


Mistaken Identities

by Mellaithwen



Category: Dark Angel, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Clones, Crossover, Dark Angel Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Episode: s01e11 Scarecrow, Gen, Hurt Alec, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, Kidnapping, Manticore (Dark Angel), Mistaken Identity, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Trauma, Violence, Whump, abducted, doppleganger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-10
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1277245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellaithwen/pseuds/Mellaithwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Ames White grinned as he saw the Impala drive past him. He had finally found 494.</em> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dark Angel/Supernatural crossover. For this story, DA is set in present day America.
> 
> Spoilers up to Supernatural 1x11 and Dark Angel 2x08

“Thanks for coming, Sheriff,” Scotty said, as he walked back into his café away from the kitchen in the back, causing Dean to shift in his seat as he stared at the officer having just stepped through the door. The couple sitting at the table there also turned, but seemed unperturbed by the arrival.

Dean stole a glance at the two men whispering near the doorway, before looking away from their glares trained on him.

“I’d like a word please,” the sheriff said to Dean, almost pleasantly with an eerie smile and his hands in his pockets.

 _Next to his gun, just what I need..._

“Oh come on, I’m having a bad day already,” Dean said, as the sheriff of the creepy town came toward him, placing the balls of his fists on the table and leaning in.

“You don’t want to make it worse.” 

Dean growled under his breath as he left the small café getting into his beloved car. His every move watched by the hawk-like eyes of the sheriff, who then followed the Winchester, and drove him out of their perfect little creep-fest-town of Burkitsville, Indiana. The sheriff only left once he knew the man was three miles away.

*-*-*

Special Agent, Ames White of the US government, in charge of wiping out any trace of the transgenic-creations of Manticore, stayed where he was, and kept his distance with his car hidden down the small embankment on either side of the road. He watched as the black Impala drove past him, not giving him a first, let alone a second, glance, and when Ames saw the driver, he smiled. Ever since he had seen that X5-494 was indeed alive, and working with X5-452, Ames had made it his personal mission to find the cocky-transgenic and bring him to his knees.

He had received a tip from one of the officers in St Louis that there might be a possible transgenic death, and upon arriving there, White had seen the body mimicking 494’s looks perfectly. Except for the barcode. So, then having heard of another sighting in Iowa, he had realised that 494 had clearly been trying to cover his tracks.

Things in Seattle had been going rather quietly, and he had assumed that for some reason, somehow, 494 had gotten out of the city without detection. Until now, of course. In St Louis, the man had gone under the name of Winchester, a ploy of course, though, one differing from the apparent name of “Alec.” Ames didn’t care, and he paid their names no heed, sparing not a second longer in picking his phone out of his pocket, and pressing speed-dial. As the voice on the other end picked up, he greeted it simply by saying, “You were right, I’ve found him. I’ve found 494.”

*-*-*

To say Dean was angry was putting it mildly. Not only had Sam left him, though granted the younger brother would argue that it was clearly the other way round, but now he had been driven out of town? Literally! He was trying to help those people, and that’s what he got in return? Well clearly, the sheriff, Scotty, and no doubt the entire town was in on this thing; it was driving him insane.

He’d seen that scarecrow, and it was obvious to him that it was supernatural; his EMF meter had told him that much. He growled at the lack of information and the cold creeping into the car as night slowly descended. He drove aimlessly for sometime circling the vicinity of the town and biding his time before driving back. Normally Sam would do the research, that was College-Boy’s job, and he had agreed to it being so when John and Dean had shown a lack of skill in the matter when they were younger. John would find out everything, things they didn’t need to know, while Dean would skim books, skim articles, boring himself to sleep. Sam, it seemed, had the perfect balance of the two.

He heard the beginnings of the train pass overhead, as he made his decision, and under the cover of darkness, drove back through the town. Even if he had been a little more paranoid, he still would not have seen the car hidden still down the embankment, nor the driver on his phone as he told whomever it was on the other end of the Impala’s driving. Nor would he have heard the words, _“No, not yet, but soon, we have to catch him by surprise, it’s the only way we can succeed.”_

It was night, and Dean knew that the couple from the restaurant was in danger. No matter how ignorant, rude, and downright ungrateful the two had been, he still had to take into account that they did not deserved to be eaten alive, or skinned, or whatever else it was the damn scarecrow did to people.

He reached the outside of the orchard, parked his car, and ran out; his shotgun was already on the passenger seat and he saved time where he would normally have gone to the trunk for weapons. He exited quickly, seeing the broken down car in front of him and running into the orchard without a second thought.

He listened intently to the night, hearing slight movement of the leaves beneath crunching feet that quickly increased, and cries of distress rang out. He followed them with precision and jumped out in front of the couple holding onto each other, with fear in their eyes as they took in his weapon, and the man who had harassed them from earlier, who had tried to save their _lives_. He fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead took action.

“Get back to your car!” he said, in a voice he reserved for the terrified. Authority was more likely to spark them into action, not to mention the slight fact there was a scarecrow, _walking_ towards them with a very sharp hook attached to its arm...

He aimed the gun, cocking it, and pulling the trigger with ease. Motion he had long since practised, when facing the spirits and demons in his line of work. He didn’t even let the gunpowder smoke to clear before stepping backward, and re-cocking the gun. He began running backwards, taking another shot, hitting the thing square in the shoulder, but barely succeeding in slowing it down. He took another shot, still running.

“Run! Go!” he cried to the couple that he was now catching up with. Even with the scarecrow hot on his tail, he didn’t spare a look behind him, nor cock the gun once more, until they were backed up against the Impala doors, and the scarecrow was nowhere to be seen.  

“What the hell was that thing?” the man asked.

Dean fought the urge to berate the lack of thanking he was receiving choosing instead to retort, his gun still aimed. “Don’t ask.”

*-*-*

“It’s more than a spirit, it’s a god. A pagan god anyway,” he had told Sam, swallowing any doubts as he phoned his younger brother on the way to this community college. He now stood watching as the professor in question grabbed a large book from the shelf. The more he had thought about it the night before, the more it made so much sense. The town was using sacrifices to keep everything happy and humble.

He tried to keep his mind on the task at hand, but still as he watched the old man almost buckle beneath the weight of the libraries books, he heard his own words echo in his head: _“I’m proud of you, Sammy,”_ he had said, the call close to ending, and as he heard his brother bid him goodbye, he hadn’t the heart to do the same, instead he simply hung up.

“So what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it would kill the god?” Dean asked, digesting the information he had just been fed.

“Son,” the old professor said, chucking, “these are just legends we’re discussing.”

“Oh, of course, yeah, you’re right,” he replied, playing along, before holding out his hand, “Listen, thank you, very much.”

“Glad I could help.”

Dean walked away, stealing a glance to smile, before opening up the door, never seeing the butt of the gun as it collided with his face, knocking him out cold as he collapsed onto the floor and fell unceremoniously onto his back.

*-*-*

He hated waking up inside of dark rooms he didn’t recognize, but he had done so not too long ago, and what was worse, he hated waking up, not from sleep, but rather, a purposely induced state of unconsciousness. His eye throbbed horribly, and he winced, letting a finger trace along his eyebrow, checking for swelling gingerly. He sat, his legs bent as he rested his arms on his knees, and he looked up in anticipation when the door above him opened, and the girl was pushed in, pleading against those who held her. Her own family and neighbours. The people of this town.

  
 _“Why are you doing this?”_ she had asked, teary eyed with Dean behind her, glaring.

  
 _“For the common good,”_ her aunt replied, in her warped sense of right and wrong, and ever since, Dean had tried to explain best he could about the current situation. The scarecrow, _bang_ , he tried to open up the door, her family’s intentions, _bang_ , he tried again all of it, and how he planned to get them out of it, how he needed to know about the tree. He had been discussing it all, when the door opened once more, and the waning light was let in, letting them see the faces of their condemners. _“It’s time.”_

He stayed quiet, save for the occasional grunt at the way he was being manhandled, and poked in the back by the barrels of the many guns trained on him, as he was led through the orchard, and pushed down onto the floor. His hands were tied tightly to the tree, until he could feel the skin pinching and his fingers going numb, curled awkwardly against the branches of the apple tree.

“How many people have you killed, Sheriff?”

“We don’t kill them,” the sheriff said, giving credence to the town’s actions.

“Oh but you sure cover up after, I mean how many cars have you hidden, clothes have you buried?” His only answer was the sound of yet another gun pointed at him from behind. _Great_ , he thought to himself, _just great_.

He listened in fuming anger at the clichéd views of the twits doing this to them. He heard the girl’s voice, too young to be a part of this, too young to die. And what about him? He wasn’t ever thirty, and this was how he was going out? Tied to a goddamn tree? Hell, no.

“I hope your apple pie is frickin’ worth it!”

“So what’s the plan?” she asked, as they were left alone in the orchard, awaiting their doom.

“I’m working on it,” he said looking around, hoping for a burst of inspiration he knew would not come. He pulled at his wrists, only serving another dose of pain erupting from them, and he jerked around, trying to get free, trying to think of a way to get his cell phone to magically switch itself on and speed-dial 1. Speed-dial Sam.

“You don’t have a plan, do you?” she said, resigned to her fate, and Dean practically screamed, _Thanks for the vote of confidence_. But knew she was right, and knew he could never admit it.

“I’m working on it!” Though he sounded far from sure himself.

“Can you see?”

“What?”

“Is he moving yet?”

He watched as she tried to catch a glance, then slumped back. “I can’t see.”

Then he heard it. Footsteps crunching on leaves, slow and steady, a normal pace walking through the orchard that could only mean one thing. _Oh crap_.

“Oh my god, oh my god!”

He struggled harder, pulling and pulling, his teeth gritted in determination. He would not die at the hand of a fugly scarecrow, he just wouldn’t!

“Dean?”

He stopped struggling, stopped panicking, stopped thinking of doing anything rather than feel the surge of relief that the scarecrow was still keeping its distance. This particular lanky creature, devoid of any murderous intentions however, was welcome. If only he had the sense to look behind him, and see the agents clad in suits following his every move...

“I take back everything I said,” Dean said in relief to being let out of his bonds. “I’m so happy to see you.”  Still taking in deep breaths, “Come on,” He edged his brother on to hurry, “How’d you get here?”

“I uh, stole a car,” Sam said, almost in embarrassment.

Dean smiled, laughing, “That’s my boy.” Paying his younger brother a compliment. “Keep an eye on that Scarecrow,” he said, suddenly realising that Sam would be able to see it, while pulling at the last of the rope.

“What scarecrow?” Sam frowned, as Dean got to his feet, slightly numb from the pins and needles that had been shooting through them, thanks to his position on the floor. He looked at the post, the empty post, and felt the relief wash away.

He heard a crunching behind him, but turned too late as a tazer was shoved under his ribs, burning and sizzling as the electrodes burst through his skin, stunning him. He saw the man, the ordinary man in front with a neutral mask, but the man behind was grinning. Dean tried to get his bearings in an attempt to defend himself, but slowly he was going numb from the weapons’ effects.

“Hey!” Sam cried, lunging at his brother’s attacker, before feeling something hard hit him on the back of his head, knocking him down, hard, having been hit by another agent. In the distance Sam heard Emily let out a cry, as he landed on the leaves littering the ground. Dean doubled over in pain, and suddenly another tazer was shoved beneath his other rib, making him cry out in pain, his back arching, as he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

“494,” the grinning man said, with pleasure, ignoring the still-tied-up girl, and what he assumed was the unconscious man. They were nothing to him, and he could see that neither were transgenics. All he cared about was his captive.

As the last feeling of a dazed grogginess left him, Sam saw from where he lay on the ground, three men dragging his brother’s lifeless body away. He tried to stand up, to fight, and run after them, but he heard a whimper from the side, and his head shot to the side to see Emily, looking all the more distressed. He crawled over to her, untying her bonds, and turned back to see his brother being taken away, but there was nothing there. Nothing at all, not even the whirring of a car in the distance broke the tense silence. His brother was gone, and it was all his fault.

  
TBC

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark Angel/Supernatural Crossover. _Ames White grinned as he saw the Impala drive past him. He had finally found 494_

For hours they had searched amongst the orchard, Sam, telling himself that he couldn’t leave the job unfinished, and now the tree was burnt, the god vanquished, destroyed, burning in the bark. Smoke rising on a new day, and Emily had gotten on her bus and wished him good luck in finding his brother.

 

She had already tried to apologise numerous times, for what she wasn’t sure, but Sam wouldn’t let her. Granted after untying her, they had run around in an attempt to avoid the scarecrow and find Dean, but they had only succeeded in finding the townsfolk and their guns. Screams had filled the night as two of the townspeople had then been dragged away by the scarecrow, but still was no sign of Sam’s brother.

 

None of it mattered. Before, he had been worried before when Dean hadn’t answered his phone for three hours, enough to abandon his previous want to find their father as soon possible, and go with Meg to California. That same worry had led him to the crime of commandeering a vehicle, and his worry had helped him find Dean, who was about to be killed as a sacrifice. Everything had lead him to here, to saving his brother only to have him taken by something else?  

His worry had blinded him to the dangers lurking behind him in the orchard, and his worry had ensured Dean was not with him now as he drove far from the towns he passed in search of his older brother. He stopped the car, feeling exhaustion win over, and sighed.

 

He had entered the police station in the second town over with an air of confidence so untrue. And now as he sat, he grabbed his cell phone, and dialled the familiar number of his father’s phone. The voicemail picked up, and he tried not to focus on the words telling anyone who phoned to contact _Dean, he can help_.

 

“Dad, Dean’s missing. Someone took him.” He had to be direct, to the point. “I don’t know who, or why. We got the scarecrow, but in the woods someone took him. People, or at least,” he paused, “they looked like people. They looked official, I don’t know, maybe they were here about St Louis, or something,” he continued, already assuming his father would have heard about that little mix up.

 

“There were speed cameras, they, they uh got the number plates. Seattle registration, but nothing more, I couldn’t get access to the traffic cams without them getting suspicious. I-” He paused, unsure of how to go on, hating talking to this voicemail and begging for help.

 

“I don’t know what to do, Dad.” he said, allowing the broken tone to filter through the phone and hoping it might jerk something awake within John Winchester to come to his son’s aid. Sam hung up solemnly, leaving it on that final plea, unable to do anymore, unaware of how John would hear the voicemail, and hear the distinct likeness between the one Sam currently left and the one Dean had left him not too long ago in Kansas.

The car was parked at the side of the road, and he could feel his eyes drooping already. He had driven for hours and lied so many times, getting information, looking for his brother.  He was exhausted, and it had been so long since he had even thought about sleeping. He let his head fall back and dozed off slightly, allowing himself rest before he would continue on with the search.

 

*-*-*

 

“Hello?” Logan greeted whoever was on the phone with a questioning tone.

 

“It’s John, John Winchester.” The voice began but quickly cut off any plans of Logan’s to catch up.  “You said Eyes Only wanted me to keep a look out, saying White had left Seattle?” John said into the phone, repeating what he had been told a few days ago.

 

“Yes, that’s right,” Logan said cautiously and cringed at the words that followed.

 

“I think he has my son.”

 

“Tell me everything you know, John.”

 

*-*-*

 

_“Ben, I can’t,” the female said brokenly, as she held the body in her arms._

 

_“Please,” the man begged, hurt and lying on the grass, the man she was talking to, the man called Ben. “You know what they’ll do to me; they’ll put me down there with them, the nomlies, please.” He was speaking in hushed tones with his eyes casting looks all across the woodland. The leaves were illuminated in the sunlight streaming down on them._

 

_She looked away, whispering, “Tell me about the good place.” Changing the subject indefinitely  and sighing, biting back tears as he spoke to her in reply._

 

_“Where no one ever gets punished,” he continued, cryptically, though the words made perfect sense to her. Reminding her of a childish dream she had once believed, and he spoke in such a way as though he had done so before, and he had done so before, as children, and in his mind._

 

_“And no one gets yelled at.” The words were innocent and naïve, and Ben continued once more._

 

_“And nobody disappears, and when you wake up in the morning you can stay in bed as long as you-”_

 

_The crack rang through the air, filtered with the sobs of the woman as her dark hair fell forward, and she cradled the lifeless form of her dear brother._

 

“No!” Sam screamed as he awoke from the gruesome nightmare.  _My brother, not hers_  


 

He was panting, searching for air, looking around him with wild eyes, before calming as he saw dawn breaking around him. An early morning start. He gripped the wheel beneath his fingers, taking more deep breaths, when his phone rang, the tone making it slide across the interior of the Impala seat as it sat on the passenger side w _here Dean should be._  


 

_No, where I should be, and Dean driving..._

 

And for the second time in so many days, Sam had woken up, had answered the phone, and heard his father’s gruff voice on the other end.

 

“What’s going on Sammy?” the older man asked, his body pressed into the same Sacramento phone booth as before, clutching the telephone tightly in his grip.

 

“You got my message?”

 

“Yes. You said they were Seattle plates?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, running a hand through his hair. “I said I’d been chasing a car in the area, but they started getting all cagey when I asked about traffic cams further down the road.”

 

“Look, Sam, I’ve got some friends in Seattle, and I sent them the pictures from the traffic cams-”

 

“You got them? D-did you see what took him? Who took him?”

 

“Yes, Sam, but I don’t think it’s because of St Louis. I think it’s something else, something much worse.”

 

“What, Dad? What’s going on?”

 

“Sam, just listen to me, you have to get to Seattle, there’s a man there, Logan Cale, he’s a friend of mine, and he can help, find your brother, Sam.”

 

“Dad-” Sam stopped himself, surprised that his father now wanted him to enter the war zone that was present day, Seattle. He didn’t want the man to hang up, he wanted—needed—help. “I saw Dean die, Dad.”

 

Only silence met him on the other end, and Sam continued, “In my dreams, he-he died.” And Sam ignored the relief when the older man didn’t start the same speech Dean had, about everybody having weird dreams, and the like.

 

“You saw Dean die?” John asked, confused. Sam nodded and mumbled in response, and more silence met him as John tried to comprehend what he heard, while recalling warnings of Sam’s power from Missouri.

 

“I have to find him,” Sam said, with more confidence than before, as if coming to the conclusion himself.

 

“What killed him, Sam?”

 

“A girl, she, she snapped his neck.”

 

“A girl?” Sam wasn’t sure if his father’s disbelief spawned from being sexist, or human-ist, if such a thing existed...

 

“He asked her to, he was afraid of something, someone was after them and he-he was hurt, he couldn’t get away, he made her do it.”

 

“Dean wouldn’t do that,” John said simply, with a confidence that made Sam’s blood boil.

 

“I saw it, Dad,” he growled, leaving no room for argument. “Now are you going to help me or not?”

 

“Find Logan, Sam, and find your brother. Get to Seattle.”

 

*-*-*

 

“You rang?” Max called as she entered the penthouse, holding up her pager with the code 911 flashing on it; its meaning was clear.

 

“Hey, in here,” Logan replied from the other room, and Max made her way to the Eyes Only base of operations, otherwise known as Logan’s desk covered in IT equipment that allowed the man to hack into the television networks without being traced. Logan was saying the repeated Logan-Slogan tagline into the webcam.

 

_“Do not attempt to adjust your set. This is a streaming freedom video bulletin. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped and it is the only free voice left in the city.”_

 

Max leaned against the doorframe, watching as the man she had fallen in love with typed away at his computer, his glasses slanted slightly, his hair a mess and a pen in his mouth, as his fingers danced across the keys.

 

“Something going down?” she asked casually, unsure of why she was there.

 

“Yeah,” he said, finishing his typing and spinning in his chair to face her, leaning back slightly to let her see the screen should the need arise. “I got a call from a friend of mine, he’s helped Eyes Only out in the past, ex-Marine, his son’s gone missing.”

 

“I didn’t know Eyes Only did missing persons,” she said, in the same casual tone.

 

“And normally, my friend probably would never have contacted me, but he found some surveillance footage from the kidnappers.” He turned back to his screen and pulled up the black and white slideshow he had ready. Max stepped forward, looking closely as Logan flicked through them. Each page showed an unmarked car getting closer and closer until it passed by the camera. She saw the amount of pictures left dwindling, she saw one and wondered if the person was familiar to her. Then she saw the next and knew.

 

Ames White had his gun pulled out, aiming at the camera, and the next photo, the last one, held nothing but static. Clearly the agent had assumed that would take care of any evidence, but the police station had already received the pictures when the camera had been shot.

 

“Ames,” Max said in a whisper. “Are you sure that’s the right car?”

 

“I thought maybe it was a coincidence, but I checked, Max, that’s the only car that passed through there at the time, except for the brother’s, no one else left town.”

 

“Brother’s?”

 

“Yeah, the next morning the brother drove past, in pursuit.”

 

“What does Ames want with some kid?”

 

“He’s twenty-seven,” he said, getting another picture ready. But before he hit the button, “Now, I asked the father, John Winchester, to send over a picture, so we’d know what we were looking for.”

 

He opened up the email, and as the jpeg loaded, Max read the words beneath.  _This was taken a few years ago._   _Dean’s on the left, Sammy’s on the right, I’m sending him to Seattle to help find Dean._ The words were simple, but Max couldn’t help but wonder how the man had felt writing them. How he had felt attaching such a precious document to the email.

 

The tallest, the man on the right, this Sammy, had long hair just beginning to fall over his forehead. The other’s hair was lighter and spiked somewhat. Sam wore a dark thin jacket, with a light shirt underneath, while the brother wore a thicker black jacket over a red shirt and dark tee. A pendant, unique and gold, hung from his neck, but Max couldn’t stop looking at his face. His lips curved into a harmless grin that made her sure he was anything but.

 

Max was speechless, and she looked at Logan, confused.

 

“I haven’t been able to get in contact with the other son, so he’s gonna be pretty surprised if he sees Alec. It might be a good idea if you could try and catch up with him, let him in on some of this, in case this Sammy-kid meets him first.”

“What is this, though? This guy, Dean... he’s not transgenic?”

 

“Nope, one-hundred-percent  _ordinary_.”

 

“So White has him because he thinks he’s Alec?”

 

“It must be. I’m trying to get some information on him now, just in case, but this man, John, he would have told me if he knew anything, and he honestly didn’t. The only reason he knows about Ames is because I told pretty much everyone Eyes Only has contacts with to keep an eye out ever since White left Seattle a few days ago.”

 

Max nodded, still trying to get her head around the situation, and though Logan understood it was difficult and had more time to digest all of this, he still needed them to act fast. Who knew how angry White would be once he realised Dean Winchester was no transgenic.

 

“Alec said something about delivering a few important packages, despite my earlier warnings,” Logan explained, hiding a grin, and Max caught on immediately, unbelieving that her fellow soldier could be such an idiot sometimes.

 

*-*-*

 

The drive to Seattle was one down in record time, with Sam-the-scared-little-brother taking over the wheel more than Sam-the-careful-cautious-driver did.

 

The dilapidated city had more than surprised him. He couldn’t believe his own eyes, he knew of the tragedy surrounding the Seattle city, and immediate areas, and he knew of the response, or lack of, from the nearby states regarding cleaning up the mess this terrorist attack had caused. He remembered the sparked outrage across the world with the refusal to clean up the problems in a post-pulse world. The place had practically been in lock-down ever since, cordoned off, effectively creating a third-world country in the centre of America.

 

He realised he would have to be a lot more sneaky than usual to get around with checkpoints littering the place. He parked the car and hid in the shadows for the most part, until reaching the bustling streets and feeling more at ease to walk down them, down the rubble of sidewalks with the steam from the drains lifting high into the air.

 

He walked around cautiously, keeping his eyes open for anything suspicious, though it was hard in this Havana like city. Everywhere he looked something was happening, something shady was going down, and he couldn’t discern from what he needed to see and what he didn’t.

 

Then, Sam saw him disappearing down an alleyway, and at first he blamed it on his desire to find his brother, and if he should cross the distance, he would see that they were indeed very different. But they weren’t, and deep down, Sam knew it, and yet, though he was searching for Dean, a part of him nagged at him and told him quite clearly, that though this man also worse leather and held his brother’s face, if not a little younger, it was not him. He could see that so far no one had dared go into that particular alleyway, and many crossed the road to avoid it, which was never a good sign.

 

He then saw that he wasn’t alone in following this young man’s movements. There was a girl in the crowd, tall, clad in black, with brown straight hair , wheeling a bike next to her and making her way to the alleyway. Her jaw was set in mild anger and annoyance.

 

Sam made his way closer now, overly curious and incredibly confused. After all, doppelganger or not, this could prove to be quite interesting.

  
TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark Angel/Supernatural Crossover. _Ames White grinned as he saw the Impala drive past him. He had finally found 494_

 

 

**  
**

“What are you doing, Alec?” a singsong voice called out towards the double of Dean’s and from where Sam perched behind crates and boxes, quietly watching, it seemed Alec tensed slightly. Sam heard the name, almost glad that it hadn’t been his brother’s. Glad that this meant Dean was not pretending, and not hiding in alleyways with packages in his hands...

 

“Max,” Alec greeted simply, nodding his head slightly.

 

The girl pointed to the box under his right arm with an eyebrow quirked up.

 

“Hey it isn’t mine,” he said, lifting his left arm in defence.

 

“Then who the hell’s is it?” she asked, angry.

 

“A…friend’s,” Alec answered lamely. “Look, its good money, all I gotta do is get the package through, that’s all.” Subconsciously, Sam began to connect the similarities between the unknown stranger and his brother.

 

“And you think the Steelheads are gonna be okay with this?”

 

Sam frowned in confusion at the name, not a clue what Steelheads were.

 

“It’s not Andi, and like I care what they think.” _Andi?_ But the attitude was right to fit this stranger’s face, in comparison to Dean’s own devil-may-care-wham-bam-thank you-ma’am response to not giving a rat’s ass.

 

“So, what? You’re gonna fight them on your own? You heard what Logan said, they’ve tripled in size. Not to mention since the last time you encountered them, over fifty shipments of armoured-limbs have gone missing!”

 

“Armoured limbs?” Sam mouthed to himself, all the more confused.

 

“Hell, we can both take ‘em!” Alec said happily.

 

“Yeah, well if you’re so good, why are we still being watched?” Max asked, her arms flying towards the crouching figure. Suddenly, Sam was jerked forward, grabbed by his shirt and thrown to the floor.

 

“Who are you?” the female asked coldly, a foot at Sam’s throat, who didn’t answer. She recognized the face, but there was no point in assuming anything. She pressed harder, and the man was forced to speak. 

 

“Winchester. Sam Winchester.” His real name spouted from his mouth before it occurred to him to use a fake identity. In any other circumstance, he would have expected no release from the hold, yet in this case the foot was gone as soon as he said his name. A hand was held out, ready to help him up.

 

“Anyone wanna fill me in, here?” Alec asked, slightly disturbed by the way this Sam was staring at him, as if, in awe?

 

Sam took the offered hand warily, gazing confused at the both of them, but just as he let the woman help him up, a voice, definitely British, came over to them.

 

“Well look who it is,” the cockney voice said as a blonde, face covered in piercings, stepped out of his hiding place, causing Sam to shudder as he wondered why the bad guys were always British...

 

“Eddie!” Alec said, in mock happiness, looking over at Max with his eyes telling her simply that this was gonna get ugly.

 

“Well, if it isn’t Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men,” Eddie said. He grinned, leaving all the people around him, who weren’t high on god-knows-what and twitching from the effects of circuit drives in their brains, feeling the urge to drive something very sharp through his groin as he continued to speak in the forced dialect.

 

“Well if it isn’t the _wanker_ and his little sods,” Alec replied, trying to keep a straight face as he relished in the chance to put on his own English accent and mock them as much as possible. Though his comeback left a little to be desired, it still did its work, and Eddie fumed. While the two men flanking him stood, with no idea what a wankerindeed was.

 

The fight began quickly. Eddie launched himself, and his two men did the same. Alec and Max fought with the grace that being a trained killing machine gave you, blocking punches and dealing many of their own. For the most part, Sam was smart enough to stay out of the way, but once spotted, there was no use in hiding. He fought, using all of his training and forcing as much power as he could behind each blow. He was good, but was lacking when a cybernetic arm pushed him backwards with enough force to no doubt leave bruising on his chest.

 

He landed hard on the ground, his ribs jarred and winding him. The Steelhead was about to kick him while he was down when the Brit’s voice called for help against Max.

 

From his painful position on the ground Sam could see it all. There were more bad guys--what had he heard the others call them? Steelheads?--Alec and Max were fending off two of their own, but Alec it seemed, was getting dazed from the number of times he had been hit in the head. Sam looked on in dismay as his brother—or rather, his brother’s clone, double, whatever--was thrown backwards.

 

He tried to get up, but the pain laced up his side. His hands numbly went to it, before looking back at Alec, seeing the Steelhead advance on the fallen, while Max too was trying to get to him, as she fought the remaining attackers.

 

It must have been adrenaline coupled with the fear for the man’s well-being, but he found his body launching himself off of the ground as he saw the glint of the weapon being prepared to lunge on Alec. He ran forward with great agility and threw himself against the burly attacker’s body. He barely budged as Sam fell to the floor, but it gained the attention of the Steelhead, who left Alec and turned on Sam, and Max made sure to quicken her pace when it came to fighting to help in any way possible.

 

The Steelhead went to grab Sam, but found the underestimated victim’s foot from earlier in his groin, and then suddenly the girl’s foot was on his chest, launching him far away.

 

Sam panted on the ground. He was happy to see Alec on his feet, who grinned at having hurt the man where it hurt and was pleased to have ducked in time to avoid Max’s blow causing the Steelhead to hurtle into him. Thankfully missing him.

 

“Thanks,” Alec said, holding his hand out to Sam. “But that was pretty stupid.”

 

Sam fought the urge to glare and fall into familiarity, reminding himself that this was not his brother.

 

 “Come on, we should go,” Max said, jerking her head in Sam’s direction, but before the man could protest, Alec did so for an entirely different reason.

 

“What about my packages?”

 

“Alec, I swear to God you better come with me to see Logan, or I will kick your ass.”

 

“Woah, wait, Logan Cale?” Sam asked, unbelieving that it had been that easy.

 

“Yeah, you know him?” Max asked, cautiously, eyes recalling the picture Logan had shown her of the missing man and his brother as she kept them trained on the tall man.

 

“It’s who I’ve been looking for.”

*-*-*

 

Dean’s head was pounding, drums beating, banging against his head, and his lower back was throbbing, hurting even more ever since he was forced back into a sitting position. His hands were clasped to the back legs of the chair where manacles were welded onto the metal braces, hit wrists encircled within. He had already tried to free himself to no avail and attempting to slip out only made his wrists hurt more.

 

He didn’t understand what was going on, one minute he and Sam had been in the woods, the next...

 

God, he hoped Sam was all right. He hadn’t seen him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t here as well, but Dean just couldn’t work out what was happening. What did they want with him? They acted like federal officers, but at the same time, he could easily speak out about police brutality. If they ever got rid of the gag in his mouth, choking him, that was.

 

Just then the door creaked open, allowing a little more light into the room. Two men came in, one, whose skin was darker and black hair slicked back, while the other’s smile was almost engraved into Dean’s mind; after all, his kidnapper wore it enough. 

 

“494,” he said. The numbers had been spoken to Dean more than once, though he had no clue of their significance. He made no response to show he had so much as heard the man and instead kept his head bowed. Eyes now closed, he attempted to ward off the migraine and suck enough air in through his nose to ensure his lungs would keep working until the gag was removed.

 

His chest heaved, and as he dared swallow the saliva in his mouth, he tasted the foul material and swallowed the bile that immediately rose up, making him taste the gag once more, producing _more_ bile, until it was an endless cycle of absolute disgust. Dean tensed as the smiling, egotistical man edged closer, and he pressed himself back as much as possible as the hands came outstretched and pulled away the gag. Dean sucked in breath after breath of cool air as he tried to regain composure and failed.

 

He had been knocked out in so many days. The first time, he had woken up in a cellar, stuck in a town after leaving Sam by the side of the road, and he had been offered up to a scarecrow as a sacrifice. Now, the second time, he had been alone when he first awoke, fastened to a chair, his ribs burning, eyes attempting to adjust to the varying darkness before he was joined by his captors. He had been addressed, but had been too out of it to reply. And to the men in front of him, whoever they were (because Dean had already worked out that they were indeed human or as close to human as they could be) he assumed that his groggy reception had been seen as overly rude. Rude enough to warrant a beating.

 

The first punch had made his nose bleed, and brought on anger. How the hell was he supposed to defend himself tied to a chair? It wasn’t fair in the slightest, and he had no real way of avoiding the punches especially when they came from the side, eliciting stars to shine indoors to his eyes only. And when hitting him only made him wince, they brought in the tazers.

 

It was then, Dean realised, that they hadn’t actually asked him anything yet. Nothing important enough for him to remember; they hadn’t asked him who he was, or anything to do with information only he was privy to, which worried him. That meant they either knew everything they needed to know, or they would feel happier if he was a little bloodier before the true interrogation could commence.

 

To Dean, the smirking man before him screamed slimy. He was sneering, licking his teeth, and letting his mouth hang open as he waited to speak. Dean felt himself itching to kick him for merely standing there, dwarfing him, as he sat tied.

 

“Where’s your barcode?” the man asked, walking around his captive, pushing Dean’s head forward and inspecting his neck roughly.

 

“Now then, 494, we can do this the hard way.” He powered up the tazer, the _zing_ it made as he did so forced Dean to cringe. The kidnapper stood in front of his captive once more, before crouching down in a patronising manner, hands on his knees as though he were talking to a child. “Or the easy way,” he said with a shrug, waiting for his answer, still holding the dirty rag that had been in Dean’s mouth only moments before, in his fist.

 

“Go to hell,” Dean spat at him, and White stood up straight. Looking at the tazer, as though contemplating—

 

Dean cried out as it was thrust into his side beneath his rib. Bolts of electricity flying through his skin, as his body twitched against the restraints, before the tazer was retracted. White looked him up and down, as Dean tried to regain his breath, which was almost lost to him. His head hung, chin on his chest, and he took in lungful gasps of air. The weapon was held high once more and brought down on Dean as he was held tightly by the manacles. He twitched once more as the current returned and raced right through him. His eyes stayed closed, his head bowed against his chest, and his breathing laboured.

 

“Where’s your barcode? Where is it?” White asked for the umpteenth time, and once again, receiving nothing more than the steady glare from his captive, whose head rolled in an attempt to control the pain he was no doubt feeling.

 

Something was off, and White knew it, and though there were other means of finding out information, Ames had long since learnt that pain brought on more answers than simplicity and manners ever could.

 

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark Angel/Supernatural Crossover. _Ames White grinned as he saw the Impala drive past him. He had finally found 494_

 

Considering how many times Logan had walked back and forth between the printer, computer, desk and bookshelf with his notes straying across tables and floors, the penthouse was fairly clean compared to the rest of the city’s crumbling housing. He was still making notes, typing every now and again, while attempting to listen to his blonde-haired guest trying to get his attention.

 

Asha was perched on Logan’s desk. Her short hair hanging behind her ears, she was calling Logan for the millionth time.

 

“Hey, are you listening?” Forcing Logan to nod distractedly, mumbling in return, before Asha finally asked what was going on.

 

Logan turned to look up at her, now standing.

 

“You know Ames White?” He queried finally, not wanting to repeat details not needed.

 

“The agent after the transgenics?” she asked for confirmation, remembering him being mentioned previously.

 

“He’s kidnapped the son of a friend of mine. Case of mistaken identity, but White doesn’t know that, and we’ve got to get him back.” He sighed once more, and Asha realised that maybe now wasn’t the best time to be asking favours.

 

“I’m sorry to have just sprung this on you Logan, but-”

 

“It’s okay, Asha, really.” He cut off her apology, seeing no real reason for it; he couldn’t put everything on hold, the world didn’t stop turning, and Asha still needed the broadcast information. She smiled gratefully, gathering up her things, while Logan still stared at the screen in front of him.

 

When she saw him run a hand down his face, palm stretching skin, rubbing his eyes, curiosity got the best of her, and she went to look at the information displayed.

 

“Dean Winchester,” she muttered, reading aloud. “Born 1979, died, woah--” She looked back at Logan. “ _This_ is the guy you’re looking for?”

 

He nodded.

 

“The _died_ thing, I can almost understand, the pulse and all, information getting scattered, but prime suspect in multiple homicide investigations? Are you sure you want to find this guy?”

 

Logan ignored the comment, sighing instead. Again.

 

“What’s worse is John didn’t even mention this to me.”

 

“John?”

 

“Winchester, the father.”

 

“Well, if he thought he was just missing--”

 

“No, he _is_ missing, his brother saw him kidnapped.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Besides, if he isn’t dead, who’s to say he had anything to do with the homicides?”

 

“And yet the dad calls you, not the police.”

 

“Because they’re so helpful,” he said, deadpan, and Asha felt a blush rise in her cheeks. After all, she herself had gone to Eyes Only rather than the corrupt police force several times.

 

“So why does White have him--mistaken identity somehow?”

 

“He looks like Alec.”

 

“Alec? As in our Alec?” Asha blurted, almost incredulous.

 

“He could be his twin, only not.” Logan said, frowning at his own words.

 

“Are you sure he isn’t?”

 

“He’s human.” Logan explained simply.

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Definitely. I mean, John doesn’t even know that much about the transgenics--”

 

“So it makes sense that he wouldn’t know if his own son was one,” Asha cut him off, pointing out the idea’s plausibility.

 

“No, the twinned embryos are _twins_. Dean’s older than Alec, not by much, but it’s there.”

 

“How else can you explain it, if he’s not Manticore...?”

 

“Coincidence?”

 

“Pretty big one.”

 

“There’s always the theory that somewhere out there there’s doubles for all of us.”

 

“Yeah, but how many of them are made in a lab?”

 

“Not the point.”

Asha smiled, glad to see that Logan was grinning too as a result of their quick banter.

 

“Well,” she excused herself, “things to get done--” But as she turned to leave, the door swung open, and Max walked in with a very tall stranger.

 

*-*-*

 

He wasn’t drowning. Drowning was slower, darker. Rivers dragging down, crushing waves, pushing and pressing against lungs starved of air. He wasn’t drowning; he was choking.

 

Fingers were pressed tightly onto his neck, bruising the skin, and marking it as his head was thrust back into the basin. The freezing cold water jumped down his throat, his eyes burning with the cold, and skin prickling, stinging like a slap in the face. A cold, wet, icy slap. His head throbbed at the lack of air, and with his hands held back behind him, legs pinned in the same fashion, his struggles proved futile.

 

Brought up from the water and thrown back to the floor, Dean spluttered and coughed, ice cold water burning his sinuses as he took gulps of air greedily.

 

Just then White’s foot was planted directly on his chest, the heel digging in below his breast bone, the strength behind it keeping him still, while White continued to sneer.

 

“Where is 452?”

 

“I don’t know!” Dean bit out, surprisingly loud, and White dug his foot in harder, the sole pressing deep into Dean’s chest.

 

“I’m not in the mood for games.”

 

“You’re not in the mood?” Dean asked incredulously and somewhat recklessly as White fumed. “I’m the one who’s being held _hostage_!”

 

Another slap, and it was enough to silence any further rebuttal, as the sheer force sent Dean head cracking to the side, his cheek hitting the concrete floor beneath him hard enough to knock him out, cold.

 

*-*-*

 

“It’s just some bruising, you’ll be fine,” the young blonde said, as she prodded at his now bandaged torso and told him everything he already knew. Sam had tried to hide the slight wince as he had gotten onto Max’s bike, and he had managed to hide it quite well until they reached the penthouse, where the young woman, Asha, had seen the favouring of the ribs almost instantly.

 

She hadn’t even given him a chance to introduce himself before leading him into the other room and sitting him down to let her get a better look. In truth, he didn’t want to show an impolite attitude to her ministrations especially if this man his father had lead him to, and his friends were going to help Sam find Dean. And he was fairly sure the man, Logan Cale, wanted to speak with Max and Alec—his brother’s twin and a fiery young woman with inhuman strength—in private.

 

As Max’s bike had sped down the road, she had shouted back in explanation that she was helping Logan to find Sam’s brother. Sam had wanted to ask about Alec, who had been ordered to _walk_ over to Logan’s penthouse. He wanted, no, _needed_ to know so many things, but the rushing wind pelting them as they continued weaving back and forth between traffic was too distracting for him to bother.

 

Now that it had been confirmed that his ribs weren’t broken, Sam smiled politely and got to his feet, stretching his shoulders back to relieve his ribs of any pressure. He pulled his shirt on quickly and stepped out of the kitchen and into the corner where Logan sat at his desk. Max was perched on the arm of the chair, and Sam was surprised that this woman, one leg bent towards her with the other swinging against the couch, was going to be the one to help. He looked back at Logan, the stereotypical geek, with his glasses and his position so close to his computers and gadgets. Asha, he assumed, had simply been there at the time, and now she was leaving, her bag in hand, calling over to Logan,

 

 “So you’ll talk to Eyes Only?” she asked, obviously repeating something they had spoken of previously, and Cale nodded with a smile.

 

When she opened the door, she jumped back and saw Alec about to come in himself, they smiled awkwardly at each other, and one wormed in, while the other wormed out. Sam found himself staring again. It was unbelievable that this person looked so much like Dean. Sure, he had seen the shape shifter, but there had only been one instance where the creature had pretended to indeed be a normal person, and shortly afterwards Sam had then woken up tied to something or other in the sewers.

 

Even then, in St Louis, Sam had known deep down that the shape shifter wasn’t his brother. He had sensed the evil beneath, whereas now, with Alec...

 

He didn’t even give Sam the creeps; if anything, he made him feel more confident in finding Dean. As though he had found someone he could truly trust with his brother’s face...

 

He couldn’t be a Doppelganger; despite the Winchester’s lack of experience in that field, it still held true to the evil-twin phenomena. One was good, the other was not. He had only known Alec for less than an hour, but if he was helping, then how could he be evil? And that would mean his brother was the evil one.

 

Definitely not a Doppelganger and the subtle difference in looks that made Alec appear younger ruled out any possibilities of being a biological twin.

 

And how could his father have kept that from them?

 

Which left...nothing. Sam didn’t have a clue what was going on, and while he was waiting for an explanation, Alec was too.

 

*-*-*

 

_Twilight is dawning; the crisp evergreen leaves are spread out across the faded blue sky, stemming from the trees’ skeleton branches reaching out. The breeze bristles across the brambles, and in the distance, the last light of the sun is fading into a light yellow, scarcely seen. The buildings of the city are silhouettes in the growing dark. There’s a single white trail of a cloud left behind by the plane making its way across the air. Puffed out smoke from its tail end, fading away into space._

 

_Suddenly it’s blown away, the trail gone, the twilight frozen, the branches stilled, and the breeze gone. The yellow brightens, and the silhouettes of skyscrapers and clock towers turn into blotched ink splatters across a ruined canvas. They loom forward, tower over him. They speak, they have mouths, they are not buildings at all, and you come awake with a start._

 

“For a transgenic, you sure do take a while to wake up,” White sneered, no longer an ink splatter in front of a brightening sunset, but the villain of the story, moving in and out of the bright light on the ceiling. Dean’s head rolled against his chest, and White grabbed his chin, pulling it forward looking at Dean distastefully.

 

“...Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean mumbled, and White continued to stare. There was something different about 494, he’d admit, or was the lab-made man just getting better at lying? The barcode was gone, but laser surgery might have removed it for a time, and he had been spotted in a few select police stations throughout the back roads of America’s highway towns.

 

“Well, you’re in luck, because there are tests to determine that much.”

 

*-*-*

 

“I don’t have time to answer questions. I have to find Dean--”

 

“And we’ll help,” Logan said calmly. “But we can’t do that if we don’t know all of the facts, Sam. Like why is Dean Winchester deceased according to the police records?”

 

To his credit, Sam didn’t even flinch. He had expected this man to have looked his brother up, especially if he was a friend of their father’s.

 

“He’s dead?” Alec asked, confused.

 

Sam turned to him, marvelling at the tone, but snapping himself out of it with a mantra that told him this was not Dean.

 

“We were in St Louis, a friend of mine was being accused of murder, but he hadn’t done it, he wasn’t even there. But security footage said otherwise.”

 

“He was lying?” Alec voiced.

 

“No,” Sam said firmly.

 

“Evil twin?” Max asked carefully, pointedly avoiding Alec’s eyes.

 

“No, a shape-shifter.”

 

“A what?” Max echoed.

 

“It sheds its skin, like a snake, and the new skin is mimicking someone else.”

 

“These things exist? I mean, even Manticore hasn’t gone that far.”

 

“Manticore?” Sam asked, “You mean--”

 

But Logan intercepted quickly, “He mimicked your brother?”

 

“Yes, but Dean shot it, killed it. Stopped it.”

 

“Are you sure it was the shape-shifter killed?” Alec asked carefully, almost wearily.

 

Sam nodded. The thought had crossed his mind several times after the incident. His dreams had morphed horribly from those of a dying girlfriend to the evil what if’s circling his brain. He would smile weakly as his brother helped him up off of the floor away from Becky’s arms, while Dean, his real brother, gasped and gurgled as he bled to death on the living room floor.

 

“I know my brother. The shape-shifter’s gone, and he’s buried in St Louis.”

 

“But if they see your brother, he’ll be wanted for murder again?” Max asked, to ensure she’d gotten the gist of the conversation.

 

“Who isn’t nowadays, huh Maxie?” Alec asked, trying to lighten the situation.

 

“It’s Max,” she growled, and Sam snorted at the familiarity.

 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Alec commented, realizing how many of “him,” there were in the world. Technically.

 

“I know; one of you is bad enough.”

 

“Oh that hurts, Maxie, it really does.”

 

“Damn it, Alec!”

 

“Your father could have mentioned this,” Logan muttered, and Sam’s head shot up.

“You’ve seen him?”

 

“No, he phoned, that’s how I know about this whole thing.”

 

“How much did he tell you, exactly?”

 

Logan stared back at Sam, aware that the younger man was referring to what their family did for a living. “Enough,” he said cryptically, making Max frown behind him.

 

“Okay, someone wanna clue us in?” Max butted in to the staring stand-off between Logan and Sam, gesturing to herself and Alec. Sam sighed, took a breath and began best he could. There was a lot to cover after all.

 

*-*-*

 

His hands were cuffed in front of him, secured to the small pole, and the agents around him ensuredthat the spaces between the vertebrae were as wide as possible. As soon as Dean began to jerk in anticipation of whatever they had planned, three men stepped forward and held him down.

 

The nurse held the needle in front of Dean, his eye line catching it easily, and as she moved away, he began to pull against the cuffs and away from the men’s arms.

 

“Hold him still,” she said sternly, well aware that this would earn her pay for the month.

 

Though, she had expected more from the captive, after White had explained to her all about the transgenics, preferring to tell one medical personnel member rather than an entire staff, and she had expected more of a fight.

 

She let the needle sink in deep. No anesthetic, no numbing of the area, nothing but the pain, and as Dean’s cry was loud enough to be heard clearly throughout the warehouse of White’s headquarters, Ames made his decision.

 

“Gag him,” White said coldly, as he heard yet another whimper from his captive. He smiled as the dirty cloth was shoved in the prisoner’s open mouth again and clamped down with the hand of an operative.

 

*-*-*

 

“Demons?” Max finally asked, cutting through the silence with a somewhat sceptical view. “Ghosts? What the hell?”

 

“Look, I explained all of this to you, so feel free to return the favour.”

 

“Who wants to tell him about White?” Alec asked, moving around the room, somewhat restlessly, but when no one replied, Sam let his impatience get the better of him.

 

“Who the hell is White?” he asked, anger increasing. “What the hell does he want?”

 

“Other than every transgenic’s head on a stick you mean?” Max replied coyly.

 

“What does he want with my brother?” Sam asked through gritted teeth.

 

“Not your brother,” Alec replied quietly, when no one else would, and feeling the guilt that all of this was his fault, weighing him down. He looked up at Sam, his eyes proving his pain and said, confirming what Sam already suspected, “Me.”

 

“Maybe we should call your father,” Logan said suddenly, at Sam’s somewhat blank face, after their attempt to explain all that the Winchester didn’t know.

 

“He won’t come,” Sam said, never raising his head from staring at his hands

 

“Don’t be so sure, once he knows how much danger your brother’s in--”

 

“How much danger is Dean in, exactly? This guy--”

 

“White.”

 

“Right, he’s the guy in charge of killing all of you...”

 

“Trangenics.”

 

“Why?” he asked, desperately.

 

“People don’t like what they can’t understand,” Max said with a shrug.

“Or control,” Alec added, grimly.

 

Sam stared at him for a moment. “How enhanced are you? Are you immortal? I mean--is it more than that?” he asked, recalling his own “ability.” “How does Dean fit into all of this? Is he transgenic?”

 

“No,” Logan cut in. “There’s no barcode, and he was born. The transgenics were created in labs at Manticore.”

 

“Who picked the company name? ‘Cause in my line of work it’s a beast with the face of a man.”

 

Max snorted behind him, but kept her silence, allowing Logan to continue his explanation.

 

“Honestly, I have no idea, about the name, or how this happened. Your brother’s older than Alec, and even though they look the same, they can’t have identical DNA. It’s impossible.”

 

“And how long until this White guy finds that out?”

 

“Dean’s been missing what, two days? He could already know.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Alec quipped miserably.

 

“Sam, what about your dad?”

 

“No, not until I know more.”

 

Logan nodded, though not pleased by the revelation, and turned to Alec and Max.

 

“Any ideas?” Max asked him, as though waiting for orders.

 

“Actually, yes. That factory you went to, to rescue the X-5 last week--”

 

“You think White will still be there?” Alec asked, cynically, clearly showing he doubted the fact.

 

“Not in the same place, no, but he might be holding up in the same area. It’s worth a look.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Max asked curiously, following Alec out of the door.

 

“I’ll check in with Matt Sung, see if anything suspicious has popped up. We can meet back here in the morning,” Logan replied, indicating the dark descending outside. Meanwhile, Sam was standing, waiting for his own orders, but Logan had none.

 

“What do you mean stay here?” he asked, incredulous at Logan’s notion that he sit-tight.

 

“White saw you, Sam. It’s better if you stay here. Call your father,” he repeated, though knowing the younger man never would. Sam huffed, crossing his arms, trying to calm himself down at being treated like a child. It was his brother, goddamn it, surely he deserved a say in the matter? Or at least, something to do, a way to help.

 

He thought back to Max, and how easily she had fought those steelheads, showcasing her strength and agility. He certainly didn’t want to get on the wrong side of her temper, but this was Dean, his brother.

 

He spotted the computer, now left alone as Logan got up, and followed Max and Alec to the door.

 

He needed more information, and he’d just found the perfect way to get it.

 

TBC

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   _Ames White grinned as he saw the Impala drive past him. He had finally found 494_

  
  


 

Sam had watched them all for a moment, feeling at a loss at how he was supposed to take all of this in, though granted, he was sure he’d done fairly well so far. His brother was missing, taken by this Ames White, who, from everything he had been told so far, was not someone a person could mess with.

 

And why had his brother been taken? Oh simple really, Dean’s as-fate-would-have-it double was wanted for being a transgenic, essentially a genetically empowered super-human made in a lab with a vast array of DNA mixed into his cocktail, thanks to a government facility known as Manticore. No, not the man-eating-beast, but a secret corporation, dabbling in things they shouldn’t.

 

Sam knew he would have preferred it if Dean was taken by a demon of some sort. At least they had patterns to follow, hell, they could be vanquished, but humans...

 

And now Alec and Max had left, out in search of some factory in Sector Twelve that had some kind of significance Sam didn’t know about. God, he just wanted his brother back, was that so much to ask? Apparently so. It had been two days, and he had no idea of how his brother was, how he fared, if indeed, he fared at all.

 

Logan had left to go talk to the police; something, truth be told, that Sam had been against. He could only hope that his brother’s name might remain a secret in all of this. As much as he had anticipated that whole deceased thing waiting to come back and haunt them, like most things did, it certainly wasn’t something Sam was willing to deal with his brother beside him.

 

He stared at the computer in front of him. The square screen called to him to simply switch it on, but at the same time a niggling feeling in the back of his head made itself known as it muttered something about invasion of privacy, which was suddenly ignored when he moved the mouse on the desk. The computer wasn’t off—it was on stand by—and what sat there, the last document, staring him in the face?

 

A picture of him and his brother at a happier time he could barely recall.

 

He felt something catch in his throat as he stared at the image. Dean, grinning ear to ear, had his arm draped lazily around Sam’s shoulder. And even though he’d been in Alec’s presence for so long, this—this picture—was his brother, was Dean. The hair was the same, whereas Alec’s seemed longer, his grin held as much ego, but at the same time, something in there humbled him. This was the man who was missing. His brother, who was in danger, in permanent harm’s way until Sam could save him...

 

There was a click, and the front door swung open. Sam nearly fell back in surprise; he hadn’t even heard the key in the door, but now there stood Logan, eyebrows quirked in surprise. Sam doubted he was all that pleased to see someone else on his computer, but all Sam had a chance to do was look at one picture. One single picture that he didn’t even have.

 

“Sam?”

 

“I’m sorry—” Sam began in an attempt to explain.

 

“Were you just looking at the picture?” Logan asked carefully, and Sam nodded, almost annoyed at himself for not taking the chance to look at more.

 

“Is there something else I should be looking at?”

 

“No, but curiosity clearly got the better of you.”

 

“Pretty sure I have a right to see that, I mean, it is me and my brother,” Sam said, not unkindly.

 

“On my computer, in my apartment...” Logan began, though his tone was light, and Sam took the opportunity to wonder.

 

“Did my father send you the picture?”

 

“Yeah. Email tracking says it’s from an internet café on the outskirts of California.”

“The outskirts?” Sam repeated.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So he’s moving...” the young Winchester said to himself, muttering, and Logan frowned.

 

“Moving?”

“Getting away from us. Before—before all of this—he called, saying to stop looking for him.”

“He’s been missing?” Logan asked curiously.

 

“The demon, the reason we do what we do, I don’t know—something big is going down, and Dad thinks he can handle it alone.”

 

“But you disagree?”

“Of course I do. He shouldn’t be alone, but just as I was gonna get on a bus to California, Dean was about to sacrificed to a pagan god.” And through all of these words there was a hint of a smile on his face. “He always gets himself into trouble—I do too—but he does it with style.”

 

Logan smiled, almost sympathetically, letting Sam sigh and run a hand through his hair, unbeknownst to the both of them how much he looked like Dean at that very moment. Sam stared back at Logan, frowning.

 

“I thought you were going to the police station?” he asked, not at all rude.

 

“Forgot my keys,” Logan explained simply, a quirk in his smile as he grabbed them from the side table, and Sam doubted indeed that Logan might have done something so seemingly trivial.

 

“Feel free to _not_ invade my privacy while I’m gone.”

 

Sam smiled, but found himself staring at the screen once again, debating whether or not he should have a look through. Surely he had a right? He was involved in this just as much as them wasn’t he?

 

*-*-*

 

The police station of downtown Seattle was practically crumbling into dust. The walls were lined with cracks, running down into the rubble-like floor. Meanwhile inside, men and women—some more corrupt than others—were working for this month’s pay: searching for the bad guys, sometimes searching for the good guys without realising, and sometimes realising completely.

 

Logan stayed in the doorway for less than a minute before his friend, Detective Matt Sung, saw him from his corner office and approached, greeting him; and wondering about his visit.

 

“Matt, this is going to sound strange, but I’m cashing in every favour,” Logan began, no time for small talk, as he reached for the small print-out of the picture he’d been sent. He handed it over and pointed to the shorter man in the photograph: Dean. “This kid,” he began, referring to Dean as a kid to gather sympathy. “He’s missing, has been for over two days.”

 

“Have you filed a missing person’s report?” Matt asked, looking up from the smiles to Logan’s frown.

 

“No, it’s complicated, but like I said, _every favour_. Just be on the look-out, if anyone comes in with that description or suspicious goings on—anything really, I just, I need to know you trust me on this.”

 

“If you filed a report, I could help officially—”

 

“And you could get him killed,” Logan said solemnly, then noticing for the first time at the lack of officers even there—night had fallen, and he knew he ought to be getting back.

 

“What’s his name?”

 

Logan froze for a moment, but noted from the tone that Sung wasn’t asking as an officer of the law.

 

“Dean. He’s the son of a friend of mine, and he’s a real help to Eyes Only—you’d be helping him too.”

 

“Trying to bribe me?”

 

Logan smiled, but otherwise said nothing.

 

“Is he in trouble? Is this a kidnapping—or a _kidnapping?_ Ransom? Anything?”

 

“I know who took him; I just need to find him, that’s all.”

 

“So he is in trouble.” Matt conceded, sitting on the desk nearest to him.

 

“I never said that.”

 

“You know the identity of his kidnapper, and I’m guessing he’s still in Seattle, maybe even in a sector close by, and yet you refuse to let the police in on this.”

“It’s not him that’s in trouble, but this goes beyond the law—it’s not what it’s about.”

 

“I’ll keep an eye out—I don’t know how much else I can do if you’re not willing to give me more to go on,” Matt said, standing up from where he had been perched on the corner of the desk.

 

“That’s all I’m asking for,” Logan sighed, looking at his watch and back at his friend. “Look, I’ve gotta go, I really appreciate this, Matt.”

 

*-*-*

 

“Where’s your _barcode_?” White asked yet again, now that the captive, who White deemed to be 494, had woken up again. The spinal tap had apparently been too much, and the agony had brought on a blackout. No sooner than five minutes after his eyes had opened again, White had started asking again, grating on Dean’s already frayed nerves.

 

“I bet you’re getting really tired of asking that, huh?” he croaked, throat raw from screaming. He hated himself for just sitting there, though he could do no more. His legs were bent beneath him, weak and sluggish, and there was a spark of fear that the damage to his back might be permanent. His head was screaming. It was something so much more than a migraine and the slight cold on the base of his back let him know of the liquid there, of the blood.

 

“Not as tired as you look,” White quipped simply, resting his hands on the chair that Dean found himself secured to yet again. Arms spread to his sides, cuffed, and his neck, throbbing, pressed against the cold metal brace of the seat. “Now just tell me how you got rid of it. Why get rid of it, you still look the same, it makes no sense.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean gritted out, his own ears picking up on his weak sounding voice, barely audible amongst the grinding sound of footsteps on a cemented floor, now that White was pacing once again.

 

“If you can get rid of them, what else can you do? Can you lower your temperature? Play down your abilities? How soon until all of you are undetectable?”

 

“You’re insane,” Dean said quietly, and White pushed back from the chair, deciding to pace.

 

“Don’t play games with me, 494; I have neither the tolerance nor the patience.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It took all of Dean’s willpower to resist the extra _asshole_ at the end of each sentence.

 

“Sir—?” a voice from the doorway called over, and White saw the agent there, balancing back and forth on each foot, teetering closer, and watching tersely.

 

“What?” Ames barked, annoyed to have been interrupted.

 

“Can I speak to you outside?” he asked, wary of asking for anything from his boss. “It’s important,” he added.

 

White growled, but led the way, muttering, “What?” as soon as he had reached the young man.

 

“The results came back, sir,” he explained, handing the file over to White once they were out of earshot from the captive. “It’s not 494; he’s not a transgenic.”

 

“Then what the hell is he?” White asked, more out of stupidity than anything else, but the agent answered anyway.

 

“Human, sir.”

 

White looked at the man for a moment and spared a glance at his captive waiting on the main floor of a factory, which was now abandoned. He strayed over to the single desk outside of the room, where one of the computers there was showing a multitude of windows. He scanned them all quickly, and the young agent watched curiously, as clearly his senior couldn’t find what he was looking for. White lifted up the laptop, searched beneath it, and on the entire desk, before finally finding the file.

 

Papers rustled as he searched through them quickly, before coming upon the autopsy report for a _Dean Winchester of Lawrence, Kansas_.

 

The picture there showed clearly 494, or rather his prisoner, white as death, laid out on a metal slab, half naked save for the white sheet covering the torso, showcasing quite clearly the y-stitch scar from the city coroner’s incision.

 

“Cause of death two gunshot wounds to the heart.” White mimicked a gun in the air as he spoke. “Point blank. So if this isn’t 494, and it isn’t Dean Winchester, who the hell is it?”

 

“A twin?”

 

“Family of the deceased...sibling, brother, Samuel Winchester. He’s four years younger than him, and description isn’t similar, which rules that theory out.”

 

“Sir, there’s something else.”

“What?” White barked.

 

“One of the agents stationed downtown said there was a local man asking questions.”

 

“And?”

 

“He had a picture of the prisoner with him.”

 

“Him?” He gestured toward Dean. “A picture of _him_?”

 

The young agent nodded.

 

“Do we know where this local man lives?” White asked.

 

“Not yet sir, but we can find out. Do you mean to storm the place?”

 

“No,” White licked his teeth, his upper lip pouting. “We storm the place, we waste money and effort when we don’t even know if it means anything. No, we send a message.”

“Sir?”

 

White looked back at Dean, smiled cruelly, and turned back to the young man.

 

“What’s your name?” Ames asked, though he didn’t particularly care.

 

“Reese, sir,” the agent replied cautiously.

 

“Reese, Reese... got a camera?”

 

*-*-*

 

Sam was lost. More metaphorically than physically, though he was sure it wouldn’t be long until he was indeed lost—physically lost—in this apartment. It was dark, and he couldn’t find the light switch. One damn light switch, something so constant, so simple. All he had to do was find it and make sure it worked, switch it on, and then he could call the light switch’s father, and they could meet up and destroy the evil candle master...

 

_Welcome to sleep deprivation, 101._

 

In the day, the large windows had allowed for enough sunlight to stream through into the room, but now at night, the light from the screen was glaring at him, and the words blurred together as the night wore on. He had read newspaper articles saved in documents, scattered with no visible connection, and the internet—as flaky as it was—refused to comply when he tried every log-on code he could think of, even resorting to rummaging around the desk in hope of finding a clue.

 

But he had no such luck. He had stared at the photograph four times now. He would berate himself, chide himself, force himself to look up data that meant nothing to him, though occasionally coming across the simple off-hand mentions of gene-splicing, but of course, no Manticore, and no big red arrow saying _click here, to know more about the secret government conspiracy_. All he had were drooping eyelids, strained eyesight, and a constant yawning he couldn’t be rid of.

 

He didn’t want to sleep, because the last time he had, the dream had plagued him. His brother dead in the middle of some clearing, some woods. Maybe that was where White had him? But there was something different. His dreams about Lawrence were crisp and clear, the same with Jessica some months ago. But that dream, the crack of the bone inside of his neck...it was all muffled, grey—not black and white, but—darker; it seemed older somehow.

 

He shook his head. He didn’t know anything anymore, but if he gave in and fell asleep right now, Logan, or Alec, or Max would find him slumped over the keyboard—a sure sign he had been at the computer.

 

He made sure every document, save for the one picture that had been opened previously, was closed, and even then he took a moment to stare at his brother’s face before trudging to the sofa. He had intended to sit for a moment, rest his eyes, and be ready for whatever news the others brought back with them. But his dreams, his subconscious, his body yearning for sleep, had other ideas.

 

_Standing, he sees the images falter, static blocking some, as though his subconscious is sorting through what he could handle and what he could not. The factory is dark, dank, cold, so cold, shivering, goose bumps. Standing, not alone, not alone, not alone._

 

_He isn’t alone._

 

_He sees him. He’s there, and who’s he, who’s he?_

 

_Bound to a chair, head fallen, face hidden, legs curling at the knee, bent behind him, slumping forward against the cuffs. Shadows dancing from a light unseen. Sam’s rushing forward, and just as he dares touch the silent figure—who is it? Who?—his head shoots up, looks him straight in the eye, and with a strangled gasp, cries, “Sammy!”_

**TBC**

 


	6. Chapter 6

  
  


 

Sam shot awake, head pounding, heartbeat racing to catch up with the throbbing in his skull. He should never have fallen asleep, no matter how late the hour; he should have waited up for when Max and Alec returned. Judging by the rising voices he assumed they had.

“And that’s it?” Sam heard Logan ask and turned the corner to see him sitting at his desk. As soon as he stepped in the room, he saw Alec’s head tilt in his direction, obviously hearing his light footsteps, but otherwise saying nothing.

 

“Yes, Logan, that’s it,” Max replied curtly. “All those factories, we can’t search every one. We need to narrow it down.”

 

“I checked the footage again and again, White is in that sector, and Dean must be too.”

 

“So that still leaves a whole bunch of warehouses to get through then,” Alec noted.

 

“We can’t search them all; we need to get someone in there.”

“It’s too dangerous, if you or Alec go and get caught, White could kill you on the spot, or kill Dean. Same goes for anyone else.”

 

“I’ll go,” Sam jumped in, just as Alec had thought he would.

 

“No, you won’t,” the transgenic explained simply, not sparing another moment to convince the man.

 

“Why does everyone treat me like a naïve little kid? I can take care of myself, and I can sure as hell take care of my brother.” Alec walked past him, but Sam just directed his rebuttal to Max and Logan. “I’m not a teenager, stop treating me like one. I can fight—maybe not as expertly as you—but I can help.”

 

“Hey, Logan,” Alec called over, ignoring the fact that Sam was waiting for an answer and gesturing to something in his hand, “What’s this?”

 

He lifted the A4-sized package that had been slipped under the door some time ago, and Logan shook his head.

“I don’t know; delivery man must have dropped it off.”

 

Alec frowned, now was no time for deliveries, and surely if it was someone from Jam Pony, they would have waited around. He opened the seal, took out the contents, and paled considerably.

 

“Alec?”

 

But he didn’t answer; he was too busy staring at the photograph, swallowing the bile that quickly rose in his throat at the sight. He took a breath, calming himself, and turned it around for the others to see. Max turned away, her exceptional eyesight picking up on the details before Sam had even begun to run forward. The Winchester didn’t dare touch it, for fear of making it seem more real.

 

It was Dean—exactly like he had seen him in his dream. On that chair, head bowed, face hidden, but the threat all too obvious.

 

The elevator pinged, and Alec shot out of the room, thundering down the many stairs in hopes of catching the delivery man in time. It hadn’t occurred to him he might still be there outside in the corridor. He knew Sam was following him, and probably Max too, but he was more focused on making as many jumps as he could within his own body’s limits. He reached the door to the outside world and shot out into dreary dawn with the early morning rain falling down upon him.

 

He looked left to right, stepping in circles in the hope that his sight might catch the man he was pursuing, but—

 

Nothing.

 

“Alec?” Sam asked as he reached the transgenic, panting for breath after the great run down to ground level. Alec shook his head. He didn’t understand, he had never run so fast, and yet still, whoever it was had beaten him. Had gotten away, could it be that White was using transgenics against other transgenics? It didn’t seem right, and yet—he wouldn’t put it past the determined agent.

 

Sam curled his fist at the news, the image floating in his head, the smells from his vision, the coppery taste on the air, and the darkness encroaching, only amplified by the single light he remembered on the picture enough for them to see exactly who sat there.

 

They had hurt his brother; they had hurt him for nothing. They had taken him by force; they had tortured him, and now what? He was some kind of bargaining chip in this ridiculous game of transgenic cat and mouse? Sam punched the wall suddenly.

 

“No!” he cried in anguish, hitting the wall again and again.

 

“Sam, Sam! Stop it.” Alec ordered, somewhat surprised at the young man—who until now had been considerably more in check with his own temper—taking his frustration out on the bricked wall. Alec took the taller man’s fist in his hands and stopped any further knuckle bleeding. Sam pulled away, stepping back, hair plastered to his forehead as the droplets from above continued with their steady pace to the floor.

 

“That was our only lead so far! We have nothing!”

 

“Sam, you have to calm down. We will find him, okay? But you have to be ready for this stuff. White isn’t some normal criminal; he’s more than a sociopath. Sam, _look_ at me.”

 

Sam did as he was told, lifting his worried gaze to meet Alec’s determined eyes.

 

“We’ll find him. I promise, just, just give us time, okay?”

 

*-*-*

They only untied him when they thought he was too weak to do anything about it. His body slumped forward as it was, fell once his legs and arms were left free, and his face smacked the floor harshly. Limbs weak, he still tried feebly to scuttle away, but White was already turning him over and letting Dean see the cruel face above him. Keeping his distance from the captive.

 

“We managed to get a hold of Dean Winchester’s DNA—you know why it took so long? Because it wasn’t human. Or transgenic, or animal. And you know the funny thing, if you put any kind of organism near it, it changes, morphs into that DNA, making it pretty much impossible to examine.

 

“Now, I’d like to think I know a fair bit about trangenics, and the closest description to something like that we have was a soldier and his ability to camouflage himself. The DNA would look like something—anything, else—but the core remained the same.

 

“So let’s see, there’s three of you. One is a creature Manticore had nothing to do with, one is a definite transgenic. So if you’re human, like your DNA says you are, why do you keep looking like things that aren’t?”

 

“Oh I don’t know, maybe they just like me.”

 

“I find it hard to believe that anyone likes you.”

 

“Right back at you.”

 

“Are you married? Do you have a son?”

 

Dean didn’t reply, honestly unsure where this was going, though he guessed White was making a point.

 

“Didn’t think so,” the sneering agent continued. “If you are Dean Winchester, and somehow, that thing back in St Louis isn’t, you’ve been missing for over twenty years. You and your brother and your father.”

 

Dean took his chance, lifted his leg fully intending to bend it and twist enough to kick White back, to escape, but White saw it coming a mile away and kicked Dean’s shin back to the floor. He used all of the strength in his arm to backhand Dean hard enough to bruise the skin around his jaw almost instantly. Blood rushed to the surface to leave its mark on stark pale skin, already ghostly.

 

Dean kicked out, hitting White’s ankle hard enough to topple him off balance for a moment. He jumped up best he could and started to stumble to the door, unsure of what he’d do once he got there. He made no move to wipe away the line of blood trailing down his chin, his stance ready to fight. White, however, seemed to have some kind of something on his side because his agility surpassed Dean’s own greatly. In fact, Dean thought, it surpassed most creatures’ he’d ever seen.

 

The speedy agent pulled back his fist and dealt a strong blow to Dean’s midsection, and the wounded captive fell to his knees before he could react, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to breathe. His eyes were wide as he fought to exhale. An agonizing wheeze was the only thing passing between his blue-tinged lips. His face was turning grey, and his bruised diaphragm was paralyzed with the agony stemming from the hard hit.

 

“Call the doctor,” White grimaced as Dean groped along the floor in search of air, pulling at his chest and throat, while White used his handkerchief to clean his hands.

 

 

*-*-*

 

Alec sauntered back in, having left Sam alone in the rain by his own request, and returned to be with Logan and Max. The latter two had put the photograph away to keep from looking at it. The early morning sun was getting higher up in the air, and the clouds were dissipating slightly, making the rain slow down.

 

“You know,” Max began, changing the subject and honestly missing her trangenic’s friend usual attitude. “Normal’s gonna throw a fit. I mean, how many days have we taken off now? I wouldn’t be surprised if he fir—”

 

“I’ll handle it,” Alec said, cutting her off, glad for an excuse to leave the room, and he did so before Max had a chance to react; her attempt at light conversation was clearly being conceived as a complaint.

 

*-*-*

 

Standing in the rain was therapeutic, every drop washing something away...

 

But it wasn’t enough for Sam. He watched numbly as Alec rounded the corner to make a call to his cell, and he gave him the privacy he deserved, watching from a distance as the transgenic then hung up, leaned against the wall for a moment before standing to attention.

 

He knew he was being watched, and he came to Sam’s side, realizing that the young man had had enough alone time by now, or rather, aware that it would slow them down.

 

Sam, however, had just begun to walk away. His thoughts were on speed, a quick getaway with his brother in tow, none of which could be done without wheels.

 

“Hey, where are you going?” Alec asked, catching up once more and stopping Sam in his tracks.

 

“I have to get my brother’s car,” Sam replied, moving again.

 

“Where is it?” Alec queried, unperturbed.

“Just outside the first blockade into the city.”

 

“And it’s there, because...?”

 

“I don’t have a sector pass. I snuck in,” Sam explained, almost shamefully. Almost.

 

“So how were you planning on getting the car back through?”

“I—I don’t know. I was gonna work it out when I got there,” he replied in a defeated tone as he realized his own reckless stupidity.

“Right. Well I have a sector pass, so give me the keys.”

“What? No.”

 

“If you come with, they’re gonna wanna see your pass. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

 

Sam hesitated, aware that his brother would kill him if he let anyone else drive his car, but then again, Alec wasn’t just anyone else.

 

*-*-*

 

Straying outside of the barriers, Alec blanched. He wasn’t sure what he had expected to see—maybe a better kept car than Logan’s—but this? He whistled as he trailed his hand gently across the sleek black body. He hadn’t seen one of these in person before. An American classic: a Chevy Impala.

 

“Sweet,” he remarked as he slipped inside and drove toward the first blockade, brandishing his pass from inside of the car. The guard took it, examined it, and returned it, all the while keeping one eye trained on the great beauty.

 

“She yours?” the gruff voice asked, and Alec stopped himself just as he was about to reply with a “hell yeah.”

“No.” He cleared his throat, quickly sobering. “No, she isn’t.”

 

*-*-*

 

Sam waited on the curb, sitting with his long legs bent; his elbows were resting on top of his knees and his head was hanging between them. He heard the familiar purr of the Chevy’s engine and looked up in time to see Alec parking the car in front of him.

 

The very sight made his heart stop for a moment, skip a beat, because Alec was driving, Alec who looked just like his brother, give or take a few years. That alone brought memories of Dean ecstatic in their youth to be allowed to drive on the odd occasion.

 

Some fathers would let their son drive on birthdays or just around the block. A rare occasion, earned and something the son would then be grateful for, yearning for more and thus working harder to deserve another go.

 

With John Winchester, he had handed his son the keys right before passing out in the backseat, sometimes front. Be it from blood loss, or drinking, or simply exhaustion, it seemed to be the only time Sam could remember Dean driving before clearly John had allowed Dean to take full ownership in the four years where Sam was away at college.

 

“You okay?” Alec asked, concerned by the staring into space. “I think you’re drooling or something.”

 

Sam snapped out of it instantly, and of course recognized the tactic Alec had used, smiling away the worried transgenic and thanking him for bringing the car.

 

“No problem, she’s a sweet ride.”

 

“Yeah, she is,” Sam replied, as he strode to the trunk and then stopped.

 

Alec, who had followed him to the back of the car, stopped too. He looked relatively amused, and it was clear he was well aware of Sam’s hesitance for some reason.

 

“Don’t mind me.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes, popped open the trunk, unlocked the secret compartment—the extra space, hidden beneath—and used the sawed off shotgun to prop it open while he bent inside and took stock.

 

“Nice arsenal,” Alec whistled, tactile fingers straying to play with the falling cords of a strung up dream catcher, while Sam checked the barrels of the guns, testing everything from the triggers, to the bullets themselves, pausing only once to slap away Alec’s hand when he reached for tazer-guns in the corner.

 

“Not cool,” the transgenic grumbled, stepping back to get a better view, simultaneously making sure no citizens of the peace were straying near. After all, there were guns, and then there were _guns_.

 

He gave Sam a level stare when the younger man took hold of a handgun and hooked it in the back of his waistband, letting his jacket cover it from view.

 

“You never know,” Sam explained, and Alec simply looked back at the trunk.

 

“So this is what you fight demons with. Lock, stock, and smoking barrels?”

 

“You could say that.”

“And they work? Bullets, I mean.”

 

“No, but a special kind do. Silver, iron rounds, rock salt…” He trailed off, and Alec nodded as he dodged Sam’s second slap and grabbed one of the shotguns, checking it himself and frowning at the cartridge inside.

 

“Rock salt?”

“Yeah, salt repels spirits, so shooting them with it pisses them off. Gets rid of them for awhile.”

 

“Who came up with that?”

 

“Either my dad or Dean.”

 

“Not you?”

 

“Nope. First time I saw it was a few months ago, told Dean buck-shot wouldn’t be enough and he showed me these.” Sam began, holding up the white canisters.

 

  
_“I told you: you don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.”_ His brotherhad told him, as they waited for the Hook-man.

 

“Personally, I think it was Dean,” he smiled, and Alec returned the gesture, snapping the barrel into place and putting it back in the trunk.

 

“I, uh, don’t suppose you have a theory on all of this?” Alec asked, as soon as Sam put the last weapon into its own place in the trunk.

“This?” Sam queried as to what he was referring to.

“Me and your brother.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Reassuring sound,” Alec muttered, as Sam began his own explanations.

“You can’t be related. It’s impossible, there’s no way they could have got a hold of Dean’s DNA. For you to have been created from him, they would have had to take it when he was a kid, and believe me, my dad would have noticed.”

 

“Door number two?”

 

“He isn’t transgenic, again, would have noticed, and he doesn’t have the barcode.”

 

“Number three?”

 

“Doppelganger,” Sam said simply, the letters rolling off of his tongue, letting Alec know that clearly Sam had wanted to say this theory out loud for some time. It being the only really plausible one. Not that trangenics were plausible. Strictly speaking.

 

“Fun word. What is it?” Alec asked, not having heard it before.

 

“Doppelgangers are two people who are identical—look wise, DNA wise—but they came from different countries, different families, and have no relation. But they’re complete opposites of each other—one good, one bad.”

 

“Hence the theory of the evil twin?”

 

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I already had one of those.”

 

“Right,” Sam coughed, deciding he’d rather not know.

 

“Well, Dean isn’t evil,” he continued, “but neither are you, and I’ve gotta say, so far, I’m only seeing similarities. Except for the whole made-in-a-lab-thing you’ve got going on.”

 

“There is that.”

 

“But if doppelgangers meet, they tend to perish,” Sam said, as he cringed somewhat.

 

“They? The both of them? The both of us?”

 

“I’m not sure, it varies. Some people say there’s a fight to the death, other cultures have the good twin prevailing, and yeah, some have both dying.”

 

“Oh, that’s just great.”

 

“But it’s a myth,” Sam supplied quickly, “even for me. There are bound to be different outcomes.”

 

“So if— _when_ —we find your brother, I could die?”

 

“Or Dean could die, or you could both die, or the world could implode, or cave in on itself. I don’t know.”

 

“I thought you were an expert in this stuff.”

 

“I told you, I’ve never dealt with this kind of stuff before.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “And you’re not helping.”

 

“We need to work this out, there’s stuff we need to find out, need to _know_ ,” Alec said, now more annoyed than ever at not being remotely in control, not to mention how confused he was. So far in less than two days he had been told that yet another twin was walking around with his face, _another_ had been killed because he _was_ evil, ghosts were real, so were demons, and oh yeah, White’s sticking his foot in again. Fun times.

 

Sam looked up at the darkening sky, afternoon turning to night and rain clouds ever present. Another day had passed, and he was still looking for Dean.

 

“All I need to know is I’m bringing my brother back. Nothing else matters.”

 

  
**TBC**

 


	7. Chapter 7

**   
  
**

 

It wasn’t a cage, or a cell—not really. It was a hole in the ground cleverly disguised as a door less room.

 

_Oh ‘cause that sounds so much better._

 

  
Dean had woken up there after passing out earlier. Unable to draw enough oxygen to keep awake after White’s strong punch, he had clearly been dragged here unaware. Every now and again he would hear footsteps, look up and see a looming face of a man in a black suit through the grating above before they walked away once more. 

 

He tried to shift into a more comfortable position but found it nearly impossible. His hands were tied in front of him, his ankles bound in the same fashion, and his entire diaphragm ached fiercely with each movement, and though he was certain nothing was broken, it still hurt.

 

When he touched the bruising tenderly, he found the skin cold and realized at some point the rag in the corner had once been a cold compress, placed on his skin to ease the tension there and make it easier for him to breathe. The man keeping Dean there, the reason he was having the worst few days of his life, obviously thought he had more information to offer. Even if Dean himself did not.

 

  
He shifted again and bit back a cry at the pain. He couldn’t remember a time when he had been hit that hard; hell, even werewolves didn’t pack a punch so precise, but still so brutal. What the hell was this guy on?

 

Footsteps above him, and the looming face was no mere agent.

 

"Awake, I see."

 

"Captain Obvious." Dean muttered.

 

"How much longer can you even last, I wonder?"

 

Dean made no move to reply.

 

"Don’t worry, I’ll show your brother the body, personally."

 

"You stay the hell away from my brother!" Dean screamed, shooting to his feet, breathing hard from the fury inside. "Or I swear to god—"

 

"I don’t take kindly to threats Mr Winchester," White said, licking his teeth.

 

"What do you take kindly to?" Dean shouted in response, practically comforted by the knowledge that White wouldn’t come down to get him any time soon.

 

_Wait, isn’t that a bad thing?_

 

"Ridding the world of men like you, men in league of the transgenic filth."

 

"I’m so scared."

 

"You should be. Your last days alive, and you’re stuck in a hole. You can’t climb out, it’s too deep, and believe me, up is the only escape. You’re in there until I say otherwise."

 

"And I bet you’re planning on doing that never."

 

"Believe me, Mr. Winchester, the day I decide you can come up, is the day you stop breathing."

 

"How’s tomorrow for you?"

 

"A true hero—ready to die for loyalty. Is this your cross?"

 

  
Dean squinted and just caught the glint of gold on dark thread. He looked down and back up, realizing it was his necklace in White’s hand. Taunting him. 

 

"Just a pretty pendant, then?" White noted at the lack of reply once more. "They wouldn’t you know, your friends, they wouldn’t die for anything."

 

"I don’t know what you’re talking about but newsflash, I don’t care!"

 

"But you care about your brother, don’t you? He’s younger, and according to the files, he hasn’t had much luck with household fires."

 

"Go to hell."

 

"Funny that, your mother died in the same way, didn’t she?"

 

"I’m gonna kill you with my bare hands."

 

"From inside of the hole?" White laughed, still dangling the necklace through the grating, before pulling it back, and pocketing it.

 

  
Dean glared and tried to calm himself down. The anger inside of him was bubbling to boiling point and all it was achieving was a pounding headache, making his breathing hitch and spots dance in front of his eyes. 

 

"How is there a dead body with your name on it, Mr. Winchester?" White called down, but Dean made no answer. Truly, Dean didn’t have the energy to verbally spar without lagging behind with his retorts that lacked the barb he’d prefer them to carry.

 

"Seems to me, _Dean_ ," White continued, aware that he was getting nowhere, "that you shouldn’t even exist. Something you and 494 have in common."

 

*-*-*

"I just got a call from Matt Sung," Logan said quietly, creeping to Max’s side for a moment and pocketing his phone, careful not to wake Sam on the couch.

 

"What is it?" Max asked, but Logan only shook his head.

 

"The line was bad. I’m gonna go have to go down there, you okay here?"

 

Max nodded, just as the _beep, beep, beep_ of her pager tore through the air, and she fumbled to shut it up before sleeping beauty woke up.

 

  
She looked down and felt the vibrations beneath her fingertips that meant yet again her roommate was begging for a call. She sighed, showed the little black device, shining with a number, to Logan, who nodded absently allowing Max to reach for the phone. He checked the last bolts near his boots, which were attached to the mechanics that allowed him to even walk, before leaving the penthouse on his way to the police station, downtown. 

 

Max stepped back out of the kitchen and more into the hall to answer her phone, smiling as Cindy’s voice came through from the other end. She racked her brain for ways to let her down gently, because there was no way she was going to Crash tonight, but before she had a chance, her friend’s voice screeched down the other end.

 

_"What the hell is going on?"_

 

"What? What are you talking about?"

 

_"You and your boy!"_

 

Any sentence with that beginning surely couldn’t bode well, because Max knew full well who Cindy had referred to as her boy, as of late. And considering the mild surprise and happy (surely not?) tone, she felt her ears grow hot. She looked over at Alec, who was leaning on the kitchen counter, his eyes far off, thinking about something—whatever it was his perverted little mind came up within these seconds of solace.

 

She cleared her throat as she turned back to the phone, asking for an explanation, and Alec—eyes now on Max—watched in curiosity as her face changed from mild fear to something very angry. She hung up, the phone snapping closed, and she whirled around to face the male transgenic, the picture of innocence.

 

_Yeah, angelic my ass._

 

"What the hell did you tell Normal?" she asked, voice rising.

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"You heard, Alec, no games. What did you say?"

 

"I got us the time off didn’t I?" Alec said, avoiding the question.

 

"You told him _we_ needed time! You told him, we were _together?_ "

 

"Max—"

 

"What the hell were you thinking? You can’t just say things like that! I have a life, god, are you insane?"

 

  
_Now_ she was screaming. 

 

"Max—"

 

"You’re sick, you know that? You’re a perverted little man, who—"

 

"Max! Would you just shut up already?" Alec cried loudly, having finally managed to get a word in edgeways. Surprisingly enough, she complied. "White has this guy because of me. He could—Dean—could die because of me, and his kid brother is in the other room, waiting for us to save him."

 

"He’s not a kid, Alec; he’s twenty-two."

 

"Personally I think it’s a little young to be dealing with his brother’s death," Alec retorted dryly.

 

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Max asked, hissing somewhat in an attempt to lower her own voice. "You’re barely older than him!"

 

"But Dean is, and every time Sam sees me, he sees his brother. His twenty-seven year old brother, who protects him, looks out for him. I can’t be responsible for destroying that. I won’t."

 

"Alec—"

 

"So big deal if you have to pretend to like me for a few days, Max. There are more important things going down."

 

"I know," she replied, quietly, allowing the leeway for Alec to simmer down. He sighed, almost afraid that his outburst would come back to haunt him some time later on, but at the same time he wasn’t about to apologize for what was said.

 

"Let’s just find him okay, and then I’ll tell Normal it was a joke or something."

 

Max’s gaze had softened considerably upon hearing Alec’s explanation, and now she knew without a doubt the guilt inside of her former breeding partner that was eating him alive. Her frown returned when she heard the low whimpers and moans from the living room. The sounds were coming from the sofa where Sam was currently taking a few moments shut-eye after both Alec and Max had noticed the bags under his eyes only increasing with each hour.

 

She paroled in, Alec on her tail, to see Sam tossing, turning, and simultaneously trying to press himself back further into the leather seat, as though caught in some vain attempt to make himself smaller, though, god knew why.

 

"Should we wake him up?" Max asked carefully, and Alec sighed.

 

"We can’t leave him like this," he said, and Max saw a definite spark of sadness in the transgenic’s eyes that made her pause. He seemed so concerned.

 

"Hey," she said quietly as she touched Sam’s shoulder gently, shaking it somewhat hoping to wake him.

 

  
_"No,"_ he muttered under his breath, steadily becoming loud and stronger as he thrashed from side to side, caught in the throngs of the nightmare. 

 

_"Please," the man begged, hurt and lying on the grass. They were so loud in his head—images pouring, screaming, repeating, repeating, god, all over again. He was speaking in hushed tones with his eyes casting looks all across the woodland. The leaves were illuminated in the sunlight streaming down on them. Tell me, tell me, tell me about the good place. Where no one ever gets hurt, hurt, hurt. Crack._

 

Alec edged closer just as Sam shot up, eyes wide, breathing hard and looking around frantically to re-assert himself of his current location, and when his eyes fell on Max, he backed away into the arm of the couch. She reached out, but he only flinched in return, stumbling completely over the furniture, and just as he was about to fall, Alec’s arms caught him expertly. But the young man’s eyes were still too wild for their liking.

 

"Sam," Alec commanded sternly, and Sam spun around, relaxing as soon as he saw the hazel gaze staring him down.

 

Sam’s breathing return to normal as he whispered, _"Dean,"_ with relief.

 

A feeling, short-lived, as he saw the eyes cast downward; the transgenic’s face was showing the stricken emotions beneath the surface at hearing the name. Alec hadn’t even met this Dean, and he was already blaming himself for his disappearance.

 

  
_That’s because it’s your fault,_ he told himself. 

 

White was after a transgenic, and he’d gotten an innocent bystander instead, someone who didn’t even know about Manticore. Someone whose gene pool appeared to be somewhat unlucky but nothing more. He made to leave, guilt weighing him down more than it had done in a long time.

 

  
"Alec," Max began, but he was already out of the room, excusing himself with something less than a curt nod in Max’s direction. She sighed and realized how they had switched places. When last White had a transgenic in his hold, she had been the one assuring her mate that they would find her, help them. Now Alec was doing it, he was the one being an anchor for Sam, letting the guilt hold onto him but with more strength. Sam watched him as he left, realizing his mistake and trying to hold onto the waking world with a tighter grip. Blinking away the last of his dreams. 

 

_"And nobody disappears, and when you wake up in the morning you can stay in bed as long as you—"_

 

"No," he whispered, quieter this time, so that Max, with her enhanced hearing, barely caught it.

 

"Sam?"

 

_"Ben, I can’t."_

 

He blinked. "Yeah?"

 

"Don’t beat yourself up about it, he’s always like that," she said, in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Sam only swallowed before looking up at the woman. Her hair was straight, but he couldn’t stop thinking of another version, one with curls...crying as she held—

 

  
"Who’s Ben?" he asked suddenly, out of the blue enough to startle Max, leaving her no time to gather herself. Wondering where the hell that question had come from and trying desperately to think of an answer.

 

"What?"

 

"That’s Alec, my brother’s called Dean. So who’s Ben?"

 

*-*-*

 

"Still not asleep?" White asked, some hours later, voice echoing from above and reverberating around the close-knit four walls of Dean’s prison. "Now, now, you need to conserve your strength. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you can barely stand up. Surely the ropes aren’t that much of a hindrance?"

 

Dean scoffed.

 

"After all," White continued, "it seems you’ve evaded police custody quite a few times. The ones in your file are only the ones where you used your real name."

 

"Forgive m-me if I not completely safe with closing my eyes right n-now," Dean replied, glaring ahead of him, refusing to look up and let White take the advantage of being higher up. The agent in question didn’t miss the stutter in his prisoner’s speech, and even from so high up, he could see the shudder running down Dean’s spine.

 

"Don’t worry, as soon as your little friends try and rescue you, you’ll be worthless to me."

 

"Yippee."

 

"All the same, I’ll make sure you suffer just as much as they will."

 

*-*-*

 

"How—?"

 

"I have these dreams, but they’re more than that." _The crack rang through the air, filtered with sobs of the woman._ Of Max. "I saw you, holding him. Before you killed him."

 

"We were being chased."

 

She closed her eyes as she remembered fighting with him, blocking hits, and taking too many, landing some...before her kick. Vicious and hard, it had broken the bones in his leg, leaving him immobile on the ground. She could still see him lying there, trying to push himself up, trying to rectify the situation, to get up and fight even when it was clear he was done.

 

She had knelt next to her brother, held him despite it all, and she still remembered how his skin seemed to tingle at the mere touch; they had gone from enemies to siblings in the space of a second, but he was still wary and so different to the storyteller of her childhood.

 

"He was hurt. I had to."

 

In the end she had done what he had asked of him. One last request, and he was gone. His life ended, destroyed. His existence, vanished before Lydecker could hurt him any further.

 

She had left him and not seem him since until Renfro at Manticore had shown her the pictures, the photographs of her brothers and sisters, including Ben. His dead body, his neck at an impossible angle lying in the woods, with a trail of blood running from his nose down his cheek... Dead.

 

_"Don’t you see 452? You’re poison; you destroy everyone that you love. Zack, your brother Ben, your sister Tinga, and him...Eyes Only."_

 

Then there was Alec. Footsteps on in a corridor, a visitor to her cell, but his entrance was nothing like her brother. So different to Ben. His attitude seemingly more human.

 

_"His designation was 493."_

 

She had sobbed on the grass, stared at her hands, and buried her face in his chest...

 

  
She looked up at Sam then, expecting judgment and finding nothing but a neutral mask. She realized that to him, it must have been as though she had killed his brother in front of him, and it hurt her to think that he saw Dean when he saw that body. She opened her mouth, maybe to excuse her actions, maybe to apologize, but he got there first. 

 

"It wasn’t a vision of the future. It was the past," Sam realized, breaking through her momentary reverie as the thoughts collided in her head. "Who was he?"

 

"My brother," she said quietly, and Sam frowned.

 

"You have brothers? I mean, siblings? You’re related?"

 

"No. We were in the same division. We were kids, we made our own family."

 

Sam nodded, and he and Max sat in silence on the couch. Neither knowing that Alec had overheard their conversation and was currently berating himself in silence. Every day he reminded Max of her brother, and now he was reminding Sam of his? Why couldn’t anyone look at him and see Alec? Meanwhile, those who did see him as Alec hated him. Or at least, he wasn’t on their list of favorite people in the world.

 

He sighed, clenching his fists at his sides.

 

He couldn’t bring back the dead, and Ben was long gone, but all hope was not lost for Dean Winchester. Sam could still get his brother back, safe and sound. It was up to Alec to make sure that happened sooner rather than later, and he was determined to do so.

 

Even if it did mean the world would implode...

 

*-*-*

 

"Steelheads?" Logan repeated, unenthusiastically. "That’s what you were trying to tell me about on the phone?" he asked, having met Matt in the doorway nearly as soon as he had entered the downtown police station.

 

"Getting more and more complaints—"

 

"They’re brutal criminals, it’s no wonder they’re getting complaints."

 

"Exactly. We _never_ get complaints about them because the only people who have the guts to say something aren’t exactly comfortable with police officers."

 

"Matt, it really wasn’t what I meant," Logan began, but Matt cut him off, slightly irritated.

 

"Then what did you mean?"

 

"It’s nothing." And it was as good as muttering _never mind_.

 

"You said that yesterday, but it sure as hell doesn’t look like you’ve gotten any sleep since."

 

"I told you, it’s a missing persons, personal business—that’s all."

 

"So why don’t you make it formal, let me help."

 

"You can’t Matt. I appreciate the offer, but you can’t."

 

"Logan, if this gets over your head I can’t turn a blind eye, if this gets illegal—"

 

"How long have we known each other? How likely is it, that I can’t handle this?"

 

Matt sighed. "If this gets—if things get bad—just let me know, I _can_ help."

 

"You can’t, but _thanks_ ," Logan said, his words stern and showcasing the end of the conversation as he finally left once more. They knew the factory had to be in Sector Twelve, and yes—they would have to figure out which one—but they had to do so soon. After seeing that photograph sent, the threat clear, he couldn’t help but fear they were running out of time.

  
*-*-*

 

With the added aid (or hindrance) of darkness, Alec crept along the edge of the small river surrounding most of Sector Twelve’s more prominent abandoned warehouses. Hiding behind one of the skips lining the floor where water met land, he crouched down into the ground, using his accelerated eyesight to look around him.

 

  
He had ignored a lot of his training to simply be there. This charge wasn’t in his division, his group; he’d never even met the man and yet here was, putting his neck on the line to rescue him. Not to mention his lack of recon and blatant disregard for backup of any kind. 

 

He was so focused, in fact, on proving to himself that his feeling that perhaps the factory labeled with a four was the one he had been looking for.

 

When he had gone there with Max the guards had been too scattered for them to discern exactly which one they needed. But now they seemed to crowd around the one factory in particular. As though they were trying to look inconspicuous but failing each and every time their eyes strayed to the door of number four.

 

Alec was _so_ focused on convincing himself that the factory labeled with a large four was the right one—out of pure instinct on his part—that he never saw the shadows moving behind him. Not until it was too late, and just as he had his cell phone ready to call Max, the strong arms came out of nowhere and pinned him down.

 

  
The stars shone brighter with each blow to his head, until the night descended completely, and the darkness won. Not one of the guards noticed the flashing screen of the cell phone, discarded as they dragged another prisoner back to their boss. 

**TBC**

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

  
"Get off of me!" Alec cried, as he was manhandled by five guards, all of which were pushing him and holding him as they took him further into the factory with White leading the way. It hadn’t taken Alec long to regain consciousness; his transgenic genes ensured that much. 

 

But apparently he had missed White’s face when he had first been tossed at his feet, clearly.

 

He made to continue shouting, but a swift punch to his kidneys made him slump in their arms for a moment as he was dragged along.

 

  
"I don’t remember you being this forward last time we met," Alec grunted as they stopped outside of a blank wall. No door in sight, nothing but a simple floor and a grating beneath Alec’s feet.

 

"You have information I want, 494," White said simply, his arms spread out.

 

"My name is _Alec_." He glared defiantly.

 

"Humans have names, animals have names. You are neither," White observed cruelly as Alec glared.

 

"How kind."

 

"Don’t get smart with me, 494—"

 

"Save the speech for someone who gives a damn."

 

"Maybe you’re okay with dying, but something tells me your friend isn’t. Or is he your brother?"

 

Alec sobered immediately; well aware of whom White was referring to.

 

"Where is he? What have you done—"

 

"So you do know about him then. Would explain why you were lurking around outside, wouldn’t it? Little careless too, I might add," White sneered, stepping backwards, motioning for the guards to do the same.

 

There was a loud rattling noise, like wheels screeching as they met, and Alec watched the grating beneath open up, just as he was pushed in.

 

Cursing he was used to, crying out too, shouting, screaming, the whole general package that came along with someone landing on you.

 

But what he wasn’t used to was his own voice, rattling in the air, a gasp full of pain, agony, and a weak push at his form. Alec’s head shot up at the familiar hands trying to untangle themselves from the ropes if only to escape the weight crushing him.

 

  
Alec rolled to the side as much as he could and scuttled back into the wall to allow more room. Staring at the face in the shadows for just that little bit longer. The men above, the agents, were still looking in, still looming and watching and blocking the light from reaching the captives holed in. 

 

"Bye, bye," Alec heard White farewell, and the footsteps receded, and the grating was back in place. And with it, light shone through the tiny bars, enough for the both of them to see quite clearly.

 

"Huh," Dean muttered, as he stared long and hard at his new companion. "That explains a lot."

 

*-*-*

 

"Your dream, it showed you the past?" John asked carefully, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. Missouri had mentioned power before to him, but, _visions_ , that kind of power? If he was honest with himself, John would admit that his denial had let him pretend she was referring to the boy’s temper rather than a buried ability.

 

"Yes."

 

"And your brother’s...double, was the one killed?"

 

"Dean’s double’s double," Sam attempted to explain in laymen’s terms, only making the nonsensical sentence more...well, nonsensical.

 

"What?"

 

"Alec’s twin, Ben, who apparently lost control...mentally," he explained, after Max had told him the whole story. _Evil twin indeed_ , he thought, as he remembered Alec’s words from earlier that day.

 

"And Alec is the double you’re with now?"

 

"Yeah, he’s a friend of Logan’s. It’s who White was after in the first place. Not Dean."

 

"Have you found any information that might explain why they look like Dean?" John asked from the other end.

 

"I was kinda hoping you had." But the sigh on the other end let Sam know how little the elder in their little family of three really knew.

 

"Sam, I can’t research on the road, not when I’m trailing the demon."

 

"I know, but—Dad, you’re telling me this has never come up before? God they’re identical."

 

"Never, Sam. I wouldn’t lie to you, not about that. Have you exalted all of the possibilities, is it possible there’s something supernatural at work? Stolen DNA and some kind of excelled growth rate—"

 

"No, Dad, they were created in labs but they were raised—like soldiers—but raised all the same. As children, as adults. Then the labs were destroyed; they were all set free."

 

"On the world."

 

"Dad, they’re not evil, they’re not anything, they’re human they can go both ways."

 

"They’re not human, Sam. Not completely."

 

"But enough. The only thing I can think of is the Doppleganger myth."

 

"We’ve never faced one. Hell, I’ve never even known someone who has, and technically there’s two kinds. The realistic phenomena, coincidence at its best, and there’s our kind."

 

"The kind that makes the world implode."

 

"The likelihood of that happening—two things being so close to destroying everything, I don’t know, it’s unlikely," John muttered, and Sam could hear rustling in the background as though his father was reading through the papers Sam could imagine strewn across the front seat of his vehicle. 

 

*-*-*

 

"Dean?" his double asked, and Dean in turn groaned.

 

"Well that’s not fair, you know who I am, and I’m pretty sure a mirror just fell on me..."

 

  
Alec’s response was to stand up and examine the walls as though searching for a way out.

 

"494?" Dean asked after a while, remembering the many times White had mentioned the name to him.

 

"The name’s Alec."

 

"Alec," Dean repeated.

 

"494’s my designation, not my name," he said with a solemn tone, and Dean frowned. Designation meant soldier. Maybe Dean’s captor was right, maybe they did have a lot in common.

 

  
"It’s weird," Alec muttered, annoyed that the walls were so damn smooth and curious that Sam had been wrong—that he had met his double, his doppelganger, and yet, here he stood. Not dead, and the world intact. "I’m looking at you, technically looking at me, or Ben...and you just remind me of your brother."

 

Dean’s head shot up.

 

"Maybe it’s the whole Winchester vibe, I don’t know, I don’t think we look like him that much, just—"

 

"Is he okay?" Dean asked suddenly. The strength in the words, an incessant need to know caught Alec off guard for a moment, while Dean continued, "Did they hurt him? Is someone with him? How did he find you?"

 

"Woah, overprotective much?"

 

"Is he okay?" Dean gritted out.

 

"Yes, he’s fine, he’s with Max. Nothing’s getting to him."

 

"Who’s Max? Good guy?"

 

"Good _girl_ , well, woman, I suppose, and don’t look so skeptical, she could kick your ass."

 

"Not yours?" he asked, relatively amused.

 

"I never said that."

 

"So she can."

 

"Hey, lay off," Alec complained, ready to defend the actions of them all while Dean had been locked away.

 

"But Sam’s okay? No life threatening injuries?" Dean asked, the conversation changing to Sam once more.

 

"Nope. Good ol’ self-deprecating Sammy."

 

"His name’s Sam."

 

"That’s what I said."

 

"No, you said Sammy, and he hates that. Which means I’m the only one who can get away with it."

 

Alec laughed. If he was honest, Dean was so far living up to the trangenic’s expectations of a caring brother, and what better way to show you care than teasing mercilessly? And getting annoyed at anyone _else_ who did it?

 

"He’s okay, though?"

 

"Yes, he’s fine, he’s great. He’s worried, he’s going insane looking for you, actually told me the world might implode if we met, but hey, I’m a lucky guy."

 

"You call this lucky?" Dean asked, his eyebrow raised, but the sarcasm was lost in the almost-permanent grimace from the sheer ache of his bones.

 

"Well, think about the alternative," Alec said, not missing the pale features and obvious pain the man was in.

 

"The one where I’m up there kicking that bastard’s ass, you mean?"

 

"I was veering towards the _dying_ one," Alec explained, smiling apologetically.

 

"Ah."

 

"Not helping, am I?"

 

"Not so much."

 

The silence lasted for less than five minutes, before Dean—who was still both confused, and glad to have someone to talk to—began talking once more.

 

"What do you mean self deprecating?" He asked, and Alec frowned.

 

"What?"

 

"You said Sam was being self-deprecating."

 

"Well, what do you think I mean?"

 

"So, he’s blaming himself? Oh come on, they had _tazers_ ," Dean said, rolling his eyes at his brother’s insistence to blame himself for things out of his control.

 

"Yeah, they’re a bitch."

 

"Speaking from experience?"

 

"Oh hell yes."

 

  
"Care to elaborate?" Dean asked, and Alec watched him for a moment before adjusting his rather limited sitting position and explaining what had happened the last time White had caught him.

 

*-*-*

 

"Visions? He said that?" Logan asked, ensuring he had heard Max correctly.

 

"Yeah."

 

"Precognition isn’t unheard of, I suppose."

 

"What?"

 

"Heuristics too," Logan muttered to himself. Max kept quiet, confused, and at her look, Logan explained simply. "Psychic."

 

"Sounds like something Manticore would cook up."

 

"Yeah except he isn’t from Manticore; he’s from Kansas."

 

Both sighed, something moderately comical if the situation wasn’t so dire.

 

*-*-*

 

"So you show your moves inside the ring, and get paid a hefty amount for it?" Dean asked; making sure he’d gotten the gist of what he was being told.

 

"Before White turned up, yeah."

 

"Did you lose at all?"

 

"Not once." Alec grinned. "Figures that White would turn up to ruin the night."

 

"Who is he?" Dean asked, indicating upward.

 

"White? He’s the guy in charge of killing us X5’s."

 

Dean stared, and Alec, noting the confusion, continued with his explanation, "X5 is a brand of Manticore soldier."

 

"Manticore?"

 

"Not the creature," he corrected, remembering Sam’s explanation, "They’re a company—a lab. They created us, experimented a lot, splicing and dicing genes, and here we are the next step in assassination technology."

 

"I’m having a hard time finding the good-guys in all of this."

 

"Isn’t it obvious?" Alec smiled, indicating his looks.

 

"Who do I have to choose from: the assassin killing machine—who totally stole my face—or the jerk who’s been torturing me for days?"

 

"If it’s any consolation, Manticore was destroyed so we don’t actually take orders any more."

 

"No, you just fight people for money instead."

 

"How do _you_ pay the bills then?" Alec asked, doubting that their hunting gig paid well.

 

"Oh you know—hustling," Dean explained simply, lying back a little.

 

"What’s your game of choice?"

 

"Pool."

 

"When we get out of here, I wouldn’t mind seeing what you’ve got."

 

  
" _When_?" Dean mocked, sitting upright once more and staring at his double.

 

"You’d rather I said _if_?"

 

"It’s more realistic."

 

"Is the blaming-yourself-brooding-wallowing-in-self pity thing a trait in your family or something?"

 

"My dad would disagree but the evidence is there." And Dean grinned for the first time in days.

 

*-*-*

 

  
While Max and Logan spoke together in the kitchen, Sam was in the living room, mentally debating on where he should let his thumb on the phone-pad stray. Be it yes or no in regards to phoning his father. 

 

If he pressed yes, there’d be the awkward beginning. The one that even the most comfortable of friends and relatives have when at a loss of what to say. Small talk was never appreciated when times were good, and certainly wouldn’t be now.

 

If he pressed no, if he closed the phone, switched it off, put it back in his pocket, and pretended it didn’t exist, he’d regret it. He’d regret the lack of comfort, and he’d regret it later on when his father screamed at him for not saving Dean sooner— _no, can’t think like that, can’t think like that_.

 

Maybe he could ask Alec?

 

  
After all, he did share a lot of Dean’s characteristics, but it was true about what Logan had said earlier. They were different, and it wasn’t because Alec could scale building walls and diffuse aggressive negotiations in half the time Dean could, but rather Alec didn’t have as much responsibility. He was far from carefree, having to live here, in a post-pulse world, with agents of the law after him, and the public scared into a paranoia that fuelled ignorance and fear. But somehow, his stance was lighter; he didn’t carry the world on his shoulders or a little brother for that matter. He protected others, Sam was sure, but Dean had been doing so for longer than Alec had probably been in the field. 

 

  
That made him feel strange. Alec and Max were far from the typical soldier-persona. Whereas Dean, well, on most days he even donned the same hairstyle the army demanded. He trained daily and kept himself to himself—and Sam was pretty sure you had to pass a test in the Marines or go on a course that ensured any chick-flick moments were buried beneath bravado with no threat of exploding like Mount Vesuvius at the worst of times. 

 

  
It angered Sam, when Dean was concerned, because they hadn’t joined up for the Marines Corp or for the Army or even for the Scouts. Dean had played baseball; Sam had seen the photographic evidence in his father’s pack (not his journal mind you), and Sam had tried for as many sports as he could in school, simply to annoy John. It worked, but his point was that neither of them chose this life, and though Dean would never admit it, Sam was sure he wasn’t perfectly happy with following orders forever. 

 

But with Alec, he simply found it hard to believe. He was more cocky than Dean, if that was possible, and he’d been in their company nearly three days now, no—three days exactly—and not once had he seen Max or Alec _train_. He used to wake up and see Dean doing sit ups in the morning, now he stayed awake and watched his brother leave the room on a four a.m. run around the town-of-the-week.

 

And despite all of that, in a fight between them, Max and Alec would always win.

 

  
Like Sam and Dean they had been prepared since they were children, and before things were fully explained to him, Sam as a child used to think he was created to be a soldier and to do as Daddy told him. 

 

That was before he understood why he didn’t have a mother.

 

Before Dean found every picture, gathered it up on their motel bed, and told his little brother everything he knew by lamplight. Before he held his hands up to the wall, creating sinister shadows to make sure little Sammy understood the world was dark, and it was the light, that let the dark sustain.

 

  
But that night, when they were so small, Dean had also lifted off the lamp cover, and the harsh brightness had stolen away the shadows, and the older brother had explained that they were good, and they were better than anything hiding beneath the bed or inside of the cupboards or waiting behind the door of the bathroom cabinet. 

 

So what were trangenics?

 

The definition of a creature was not so much an animal, but an animal driven. One who lives by instinctive intelligence and desire, and the urges of eating, sleeping and procreating. Something controlled by others to perform horrible deeds for others.

 

Hired guns. That’s what Max had told him in passing.

 

But they weren’t creatures, surely. Their main organism was human. They were created in embryo, with genes added, so surely, they were just enhanced. Did that make them a mutation of something better, of the human race when dabbling in genetics, or were they in a league of their own?

 

He wondered if Max and Alec had hidden behind the bathroom cabinets, waiting for their prey. He dare not ask, but he let himself wonder, how many had they killed before resuming a normal life, in a less than normal world? God, he knew nothing about these people. He knew what they were, just as they knew Sam was male, and now he knew Max had had a brother, just like they knew about Dean. They knew Sam was a hunter, but what were they? Rogue vigilantes? What were they fighting for?

 

Why the hell did he care? His brother was out there, hurt, maybe more so, and he was running through thoughts and doubts with no real premise?

 

Maybe the worry had made him go insane, or maybe, instead it had done the opposite. Maybe his incessant concern had driven him to understanding that there was only one real outcome now. Three days in the hands of a murderer? Of a cold-hearted-kidnapper?

 

_Now Sam, hopelessness is not a Winchester trait._

 

Then again neither was looking like a transgenic.

 

  
And once again, with his thoughts now firmly on Alec, he set off to find the man, or rather, to ask Max if she knew where he had gone off to the other night after Sam’s mistaken name calling. 

 

*-*-*

 

"Are you humming Metallica?"

 

  
Dean stopped suddenly, the familiarity getting to him. He had expected Sam to realize the tune on the plane, after all he had been playing the music non-stop since they had been on the road, but this guy?

 

"What’s it to you?"

 

"Nothing, just figured you more for a Stones fan." Alec shrugged.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah, newspaper clipping in your trunk."

 

Dean froze. He knew exactly what Alec was talking about; he had pinned the clipping to the trunk when he had first seen it on the back of some newspaper, advertising the up and coming tour, and ever since he had debated whether or not he should at least try and go to one of them, but getting tickets was a whole other matter...

 

Alec coughed, referring to the silence, obviously he and Dean shared the same trait that awkwardness was never welcome. "Uh yeah, you’ve been in my trunk?"

 

"Pretty cool stuff you’ve got there," Alec said with a whistle. "Some very _weird_ stuff, but cool."

 

"Is there a particular reason you went in my trunk?"

 

"Other than to snoop around, you mean? I was talking to your brother, couldn’t help myself—had to take a look."

 

"Nice to see he’s expressing vigilance."

 

"I probably would have busted it open anyways."

 

"That’s comforting."

 

  
"You’re judging me? You had like six guns in there, not to mention all of the stakes and knives and crosses and arrows and—"

 

"Point taken."

 

Alec nodded, glad, and tried to move over into a more comfortable position, managing only to kick Dean in the foot, eliciting a harsh gasp, followed by scrunching his eyes closed and trying to get his breathing under control.

 

  
"Woah, hey man I’m sorry, I didn’t kick you that hard, did I?" Alec asked, concerned and curious over his own strength, but Dean only shook his head. It was something else, and realizing he wouldn’t be told any time soon, Alec lifted Dean’s leg and looked at the sole of Dean’s feet, grimacing at the sight. 

 

  
The pink skin had been burnt away, leaving streaks that made Alec’s hands shake in anger. They had tortured Dean to get to him and look where it had gotten them: Both of them likely to die at the hands of Ames White. 

 

*-*-*

 

"We can’t just bust in screaming, we don’t even know what factory it is, Sam."

 

  
They were in Sector Twelve. After Sam had come looking for Alec, they had all realised that the transgenic rogue was nowhere to be found and had been that way for some time. 

 

  
It was clear he wasn’t about to run to some bar or club to let off steam. Oh no, Alec was on a mission, and Logan had reminded them that White was definitely in that sector, so Alec probably was too. 

 

She was gonna kick his ass the next time she saw him for getting into this alone, when they had already agreed to work as a team, but for now, she just had to make sure everyone got out of this alive.

 

"So, what’s the plan?" Sam asked, and Max was tempted to scream that she didn’t know when she caught sight of the small black item on the ground in front of them. She crouched down behind the skip and motioned for Sam to do the same. She saw where the cell phone was pointed, looked up at the factory and noticed the guards standing outside of it.

 

"It’s this one,” she said simply, pointing over to the abandoned warehouse closest to them, labeled with a large four. There were two guards posted on the main entrance, even more no doubt when they got closer.

 

"How do you know?" Sam asked, confused. Max lifted the phone up.

 

"Alec was here, his cell, he must have put it here—or dropped it if..." She paused for a moment, before continuing, "If he was here, right in this spot, the only obvious factory is that one ahead. He wouldn’t have made a call if he wasn’t looking at the factory at that very moment; he would have needed to tell me details."

 

"He phoned you?"

 

"Logan, but yeah."

 

"Do you think—" Sam began, but Max cut him off.

 

"If they’ve got him, we’ll get him out. Same goes for Dean, okay?"

 

  
Sam nodded, and Max looked around and saw the railings in the ground, and she crawled over. The man-hole was covered, but that would pose no problem. Once they got in, she doubted it would be hard to navigate, but now it was a case of whether or not she was ready to take on White if the need should arise. 

 

And if Sam was ready to see his brother in whatever state he might be left in.

 

  
"Come on," she motioned for him to follow her, keeping a lookout as she pried the cover open and jumped down the steps, looking down at disgust as she landed in the wet puddles that lined the sewers. Most likely used for the waste of the factory. The stench told her that much. 

 

Sam joined her, but as he moved forward, she stopped him.

 

"Stay here,” she commanded.

 

"What?" Sam cried incredulously. "No."

 

"Sam, I’m gonna need help on this end, I can’t help them escape if there are guards all over our exit. Just keep the coast clear. I’ll do the rest."

 

"The hell you will, I’m coming with you."

 

"Sam, _listen_ to me."

 

"He’s my brother,” he stressed, eyes pleading.

 

"So you keep saying, but you haven’t even met White before, Sam. You have no idea what he’s capable of. You’ll be in danger, and we have to put Dean first."

 

Far from complying Sam had no time to complain more, before Max ran off, her speed taking her further until Sam could no longer see her in the slight darkness.

 

*-*-*

 

_Crunching footsteps, one-two-three, someone’s coming, you can’t see, crunching, crumbling, leaves to dust, escape, escape, escape’s a must._

 

_“Dean?”_

 

_“I take back everything I said, I’m so happy to see you.”_

 

_“The feeling isn’t mutual.”_

 

_Smiling, grinning, sneering so, he jabs, he pokes, and down you go. Your brother gone, his face afar, calling out, crying, trying to get to where you are. Too little, too late, not enough too soon, and fall you must beneath the stars and the moon. Skin aflame—_

 

  
Dean shot awake to find Alec’s hand on his forehead.

 

"You’re hot,” he explained, frowning in concern.

 

  
"Little egotistical,” Dean mumbled with half a smile. 

 

"No, you have a fever. Have you eaten at all?" Alec replied, in a no-nonsense-tone that didn’t suit him. But then he realised what he had just said and shook his own head. "Of course you haven’t."

 

"So who was that Max you mentioned earlier?" Dean asked, changing the subject desperately. And though Alec listened, he was far more concerned by the slurred speech.

 

"Her name’s Max, she can get pretty angry."

 

"Yeah? Sounds like a great girl."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Oh?"

 

"Not like that."

 

"Ah, my b-bad."

 

"Hey, are you okay?"

 

"Just peachy."

 

  
_"Bring them up!"_ A voice cried from above them, before the floor moved as though on its own accord and began to take them upward. Dean’s head spun at the sudden motion and lack of a steady wall to lean against. Alec’s arm was on his, keeping him steady and offering the support needed. 

 

  
The grating had been removed, and the closer they got to the top and harder Alec seemed to hold on, and Dean could tell, the man was planning something. 

 

*-*-*

 

Max looked to and fro before moving expertly from one hiding place to the other, movements smooth and silent. Fluid as water. Cat-like and precise. She was crouched and hidden, her breathing scarcely audible.

 

She heard movement behind her, but then the dripping of water in the distance peaked her interest, especially when the splashing seemed disturbed, perhaps by footsteps, not too far off.

 

One single boot footstep behind her, and a large beefy arm grabbed her neck, an unseen guard hiding in the shadows, and with the gun pressed so hard beneath her chin; she was caught outright.

 

"Don’t move,” he grunted, jabbing her further with the nozzle of the pistol. "Or else."

  
**TBC**

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

“All I want to know are the whereabouts of 452?” White explained as though it was the simplest thing he could have asked. But Alec kept his head down, refusing to answer. Dean’s ears were ringing, and the words echoed, and echoed, and echoed...

 

But White wasn’t talking to him.

 

Dean had been discarded for the moment. He wasn’t even sure if that was a good thing; at least when he was receiving the brunt of the torture he didn’t have to watch while anyone else got hurt.

 

As soon as the panel beneath had brought them up high enough, both Alec and Dean had been grabbed and pulled aside before Dean had been manhandled back into the familiar metal chair, and Alec was being held down by four guards, two on each side.

 

Every time White asked the question, it would be followed by a jab with the tazer and various points on Alec’s body, though mainly his chest to allow White the satisfaction of watching the transgenic grimace in pain.

 

“Maybe your friend will break more easily?” White asked, but before Dean or Alec could react, White had changed direction, and arched the tazer down on Dean.

 

“Leave him alone!” Alec bellowed, but White ignored him, only jabbing the tazer further into Dean’s chest. His body convulsed with the electricity, and Alec felt bile rise up in his throat as he was forced to watch the spectacle. “Damn it, White, he has nothing to do with this!”

 

“No, but you do.” He retracted the tazer, and Dean fought to catch his breath, slumping in the chair.

 

“Let him go.”

 

“Dean Winchester has a brother, doesn’t he?” White asked, ignoring Alec’s plea, tightening the grip and forcing Dean’s head back.

 

“If you hurt him, I swear to god I’ll kill you,” he threatened, growling in anger.

 

“Maybe you and he aren’t so different after all.” He looked over at Alec, “What do you think 494, brother a good bet?”

“If you go near him, Max will rip your head off,” Alec said calmly, stating the obvious truth.

 

“Ah 452, something told me she’d have something to do with this. She usually does when you’re involved.”

 

“You knew she had something to do with this the second you took that picture and sent it.”

 

“I’m so glad Mr. Cale passed the message on. Tell me, how does he fit into all of this?”

“He doesn’t.”

 

“Seems he might have a connection to Eyes Only, who definitely has a bias in regards to mutant-freaks.”

“From where I’m sitting, you’re the only freak,” Dean growled, and with a lasting sneer—his apparent calling card—White left, leaving the remaining guards to put the captives back inside of their cell.

 

Alec looked over to Dean, who—all things considered—actually looked as though he could handle himself if needs be. He caught the man’s eye, trying to send him some kind of message that this could get messy, but he could only hope his level stare was enough.

 

The mechanism to unlock the cuffs clicked into place, and the metal binds retracted back into the seat, but with both captives surrounded by guards...

 

Alec sat there, waited until three of the guards were around him, before shooting up, head hitting one of the guard’s chin, sending him to the ground—dazed—while the other two sprang into action. But Alec did too; he was standing best he could, the chair still attached to his arms and legs, and with expert agility, he spun around fast enough to catch both guards in the shins.

 

Dean had been faring well too. Though he was only dealing with one guard, he had the disadvantage still. His legs were unsteady, and his balance teetering; he was half hoping Alec might hurry up and help, but the guard’s beefy arm snaked around Dean’s neck. And Alec stopped suddenly, aware of the gurgling as his older double choked beneath the grasp.

 

“Let him go,” he ordered, but the guard sneered and gestured for the guard on the ground—the first knocked out—to get reinforcements.

 

“I let him go; you do as you’re told. Simple as.”

 

*-*-*

 

“There’s a good girl,” the guard muttered when Max remained still. She had heard the footsteps from behind even if her captor had not, and more importantly, she recognized those footsteps.

 

There was a great whoosh of air, a smack, and the guard’s arm fell slack enough for Max to not only get free, but to spin and land a kick in the man’s midsection too, sending him to the ground.

 

“I told you to stay put,” Max grumbled, bending over the guard to make sure he was out and staring up at Sam, who stood there, panting, with a crow bar in his hand.

 

“Yeah, you did,” he replied with a sly grin.

 

*-*-*

 

“All right, okay, just don’t hurt him,” Alec said carefully, his palms held up in surrender.

 

Mock surrender.

 

The guard sneered, much like his boss, and tightened his grip for a moment, so that when he let go Dean dropped to his knees, gasping for air, grabbing his own neck that he knew would bruise.

 

“Try anything and next time I’ll make—”

 

But the guard’s threat was cut off by the blur of Alec’s form in front of him as his hand struck out and squeezed the burly git’s throat so much that his throat convulsed, and he fell to the ground clutching at it much like Dean had been.

 

“Asshole,” Alec muttered as he helped Dean to hit feet.

 

“Watch the wrists, will you?” Dean complained once he was upright, only swaying once at the altitude of standing up after being on the ground. Alec steadied him instantly and turned to him.

 

“There’s a way down to the sewers, if we can get there it’ll be easier to get away.” Dean nodded at Alec’s information. “We have to run, can you handle it, or do you want me to carry you?”

 

“Dude, I’m running,” Dean replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, and Alec smirked, before taking off, Dean sprinting best he could behind him.

 

The green of the sewer’s mould seemed to glow with what little light streamed through crevices in the walls and the occasional lamplight there to help workers when down there. Dean, for his part, had kept up well with Alec’s fast stride. Though granted, Alec himself was slowing down to accommodate for Dean’s injuries.

 

With every step they took, Alec was expecting the cavalry to come rushing in and apprehend them once more, and he was fairly sure Dean couldn’t survive another onslaught.

 

“Oh shit,” Alec cursed when he looked back and saw Dean start to fall. He ran back, his speed letting him reach Dean in time to catch him.

 

“Sam?” Dean muttered, eyes drooping.

 

“It’s Alec, remember?” Alec stressed, looking around—expecting them to be followed at any minute. He looked back at Dean and saw the man’s head rolling backwards. Come on man, don’t do this, stay awake!

 

“I’m up,” Dean mumbled, but it was clear he was far from it. Alec grunted, but otherwise seemed unperturbed by the bundle now in his arms as he grabbed hold of Dean, holding him carefully; he was wary of any wounds he might not have seen. He looked around him once more, before heading off through the maze-like corridors of the sewers beneath the factory. Still carrying Dean.

 

He panted for breath, adjusting Dean in his hold as he did so, but his ears caught footsteps in the distance, and as he looked ahead he saw shadows. Two figures. Most likely White and one of his men, coming from the direction he was headed in.

 

That meant they were surrounded. No way out.

 

And if White found them now, after having managed to escape this far, they would be dead in an instant and be damned about gathering information on 452. He would slaughter them on the spot with no mercy.

 

He shuddered, pressing himself further back, and laying Dean down carefully, in an upright position so that the unconscious man’s head drooped slightly on his own shoulder as he lay against the wall.

 

Alec stood in front of him, steeling himself for the fight about to come.

 

“Bring it on,” Alec whispered to himself as the shadows grew in length and got closer and closer to Dean’s and his hiding place.

 

*-*-*

 

“I thought you said your dad was a military man,” Max whispered.

 

“He was,” Sam said, frowning and wondering where that had come from.

 

“Then why don’t you ever listen? I told you to stay put and yet there you are.” Max glared.

 

“That guard would have killed you.”

 

“Yeah, and he could have killed you,” Max said, rolling her eyes, but she put a finger to her lips as Sam went to reply. “Shh, you hear that?”

 

Sam shook his head.

 

“Well I do,” Max replied and stalked off with Sam following her lead.

 

*-*-*

When Sam first saw his brother, his first instinct was to cry out, maybe call his name, gasp, or make some kind of sound, but he couldn’t. His voice caught in his throat, and any noise could warrant company they didn’t want, so instead, he simply ran closer. He hesitated for a moment, before crouching down and trying to rouse Dean, whispering his name and shaking his shoulder gently.

 

Alec let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and smiled at Max, who was more than happy to see him.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, not unkindly.

 

“Didn’t feel like staying with White any longer,” he smirked.

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam asked when he received no response from his brother, looking up at where Alec and Max stood. He then carefully lifted his brother’s eyelids. He watched for the warranted response, seeing that even in the dim light, Dean’s pupils reacted accordingly.

 

“He passed out—he’s gotta be dehydrated, and I know he hasn’t eaten since he was with you,” Alec explained with a sigh. “The fact that he didn’t collapse earlier...”

 

Alec left the comment open, and Sam knew Dean hadn’t eaten for a lot longer before White had attacked, thanks to his run in with the scarecrow. How he had lasted this long was a mystery, or rather, credit to how well skilled John had ensured his boys were in such a world.

 

Be it or good thing or bad thing, Sam didn’t dare care. His first and only priority was his brother. He grabbed Dean’s shoulder tighter this time and shook with more vigour; his whispers turned into hissing as he called his name, aware that they couldn’t dawdle, but all three of them might need to fight, and they couldn’t risk Dean being left out cold.

 

On the third shake, Dean came to with a start, jerking from the hold of his brother’s hand on his shoulder, eyes wild for a moment, trying to take in his surroundings with his eyesight glazed as it was from exhaustion.

 

“Sam?” he croaked out finally, much to his brother’s relief, and his mouth quirked into a small smile. “About time,” he muttered simply, leaving Sam to laugh (either that or cry) before frowning, aware that the situation was serious, and had to be handled, _now_.

 

“Dean, we have to get out of here, can you walk?”

 

He nodded, using the wall and his brother’s supporting arms to get on his feet.

 

Before falling straight back down again.

 

Sam grabbed him in time, but the fact that Dean’s whole weight was on him only worried him. His brother wasn’t pulling away, if anything, he was holding on tighter.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Just...give me a minute,” he muttered, and Sam let him slip to the floor gently, leaving him for a moment to stride back to where Max and Alec stood.

 

“They’re getting closer,” Max said simply. “A guard jumped me on the way in, and they’re bound to be looking for you and Dean,” she told Alec, who nodded.

 

“Wait, a guard _jumped_ you?”

 

“Didn’t they do the same to you?”

 

“Guys?” Sam cut through their banter, gesturing over to his fallen brother. Both trangenics looked back down the passageway of the sewer

 

“Maybe we should—”

 

“No!” Sam cried. “We’re getting him out of here, now!”

 

“If we hide, he can take a break. He needs to rest, Sam, we don’t know the extent of his injuries—”

“If he rests, he won’t wake up again,” Sam said through gritted teeth

 

“Bullshit,” a weak voice called from behind, and they spun to see Dean on his feet, though barely. He was still leaning heavily against the wall, his own teeth bared like Sam’s but against the pain rather than anger.

 

“Dean!” Sam reprimanded, trying to pry his brother’s fingers from the wall, having already decided that he would carry him.

 

“We’re getting out of here, Sam; I have to get out of here.”

 

The look in his brother’s eyes made him falter, for a second Sam could have sworn he had seen desperation, maybe even fear, before he reeled in any emotions laid out before them. Sam nodded, understanding his brother’s reluctance to stay any longer. He made to carry him, but Dean quickly swatted him away. “I’m walking out of here, Sam.”

 

“You can barely stand—”

 

“Says you.”

 

“Dean, I _know_ , okay, just let me carry you, it’s quicker, and it’s better.”

 

“You can’t carry me, Sam, you know you can’t.”

 

Sam paused, he had already wondered if he could keep his stealth when carrying his brother’s added muscle, and lagging behind was not an option.

“Great time to be walking around with Manticore Transgenics then isn’t it?” Alec quipped, slightly unhelpfully.

 

“You need to fight; you can’t do that if you’re carrying me,” Dean said and turned back to Sam, “I’m walking out of here, Sam; I have to walk out of here.” His words, strong as though were, still did not hide the shivers running down his spine

 

“Guys, I don’t mean to rush you but there guards on the way to kill us—leaving is a really good idea right now.”

 

“I’m not really that annoying am I?” Dean asked, changing the conversation to retort to his double, having decided in his captivity that Alec did indeed annoy him.

 

“No, not quite,” Sam said, though he knew his answer was based on the brotherly bond he _didn’t_ share with Alec.

 

“Alec’s right, we have to go, now,” Max added, having checked their exit twice now.

 

“So let’s go,” Dean said simply, leaving his brother to growl. Sam strode forward and grabbed his brother’s arm, tossing it around his neck, giving Dean both the support, and the freedom he craved. His pace was gentle enough for Dean to keep up but still bearing in mind that they _were_ being chased.

 

Any advantage of a head start was cancelled out by their wounded.

 

They had barely been walking more than ten minutes before Sam’s stride had slowed considerably, and Dean’s legs were fumbling more and more. They had to stop, and Sam let his brother lean back against the wall

 

“They’re coming, we have to leave!” Max cried as she ran back to them.

 

“Keep going without us,” Sam began but just as he did, Alec came running forward, gasping out “White,” and gesturing back to the way he had come.

 

“Back that way?” Dean asked, eyes closed, leaning against the cold wall.

 

“We can’t; we’re cornered. We don’t have enough time to get out, not if one of us is carrying him,” Max began, and seeing Dean’s look, “And especially not if you’re walking.”

 

“So what do we do?!” Sam asked, far more stressed now than he had been for some time.

 

“We’ll have to fight.”

 

“Max...” Alec began, worried that fighting could make the situation even more problematic. Max tried not to flinch at the change in his nature, normally he was itching for a chance to _kick ass_ , but now?

 

“Alec, we don’t have a choice.”

 

“We can’t win, they have guns, and even if they can get out,” he gestured to Dean, now leaning heavily on Sam, rather than the wall, with his eyes glazed. “Without us, they won’t make it far, you know that.”

“So I’ll stay, there’s no way White would pass up the opportunity—”

“I’m not gonna leave you here!”

 

“They’re coming,” Sam muttered, seeing the shadows in the distance dance off of the green sewer walls.

“Just go.”

 

“Dean, shut up.”

 

“Sam, it’s okay; he hasn’t killed me so far.”

 

“But there’s nothing stopping him doing that now; you’re getting out of here,” Alec stressed and then looked back to Max.

 

“He wants you, and he’s been trying to use me and Dean to get to you, so I’ll stall.”

 

“What? Alec—”

 

“So it’s okay for you to put yourself in danger but not me? Come on, Maxie, I can handle White.”

“You’ve done _so_ well until now,” she muttered, out of slight fear more than actual anger. “I’ll take them out, then I’m coming straight back here to help, okay?” she conceded, and Alec grinned.

 

*-*-*

 

“494,” White muttered as he saw the figure facing the walls. His lack of hunched shoulders proved to him that it wasn’t the Winchester man, and the sheer fury behind the transgenic’s eyes when he turned around proved to him thus.

 

“Don’t tell me your friends have left you all alone?” White taunted, and Alec sneered. With Ames distracted, Max led Sam and Dean past him towards the exit ahead. Satisfied that they were relatively safe, Alec turned back to White.

 

“As long as they’re far away from you.”

 

“But as long as you’re here, I’ve got 452 in the palm of my hand.”

 

“Butter fingers.”

 

“No, I won’t let you escape again; you won’t slip through my fingers this time.”

 

“What do you want with Max anyway? Got a secret crush you’re not sharing with the class, Ames?”

 

“I set my standards a little higher.”

 

“Funny, I’ve got a feeling Max would say the same thing about you. It’s that slime-ball act you’ve got going on, not very appealing.”

 

“Distracting me will only prolong your stay, 494.”

 

“Did I hit a nerve?”

 

“Not even close.”

 

“You know I can beat you any day of the week, right?”

 

“Is that what you want? A fight?”

 

“Scared? Intimidated? Did you pee your pants a little?” Alec taunted.

 

“If you’re so eager to fight me, why don’t you?”

 

“Because I have common sense, and if I fight you now, it could risk exposure, and we don’t want that any more than you do.”

 

Alec continued to taunt White, circling him carefully and studying every movement. White was waiting for backup; he just didn’t know that Alec was too.

 

Just as the transgenic was beginning to wonder how much White’s eyes could narrow at his own meagre attempts to stall, Max appeared, leaping in front of him. And at the same time, White’s guards rushed in. She knocked White down and started on the guards closest to her, while Alec flanked her movements, switching from right to left depending on where Max wasn’t. He dealt a kick to the first guard who came near, using the body to spin himself and punch a second guard square in the jaw upon landing, falling back on another, while Max handled her own.

 

Finally with a mild lull in the fight, they shared a glance and made a break for it, just as White was picking himself up and growling for his colleagues to _“Get them!”_

 

*-*-*

 

“How much further?” Sam asked, worried about the extent of Dean’s injuries and how Sam’s running couldn’t be helping much. Alec looked back at him and then strode forward.

 

“I’m faster, I can carry him; you two go in front, make sure no one’s coming.”

“What?” Sam asked, surprised, having already assumed that he would be carrying his brother, but Max jumped in.

 

“It makes sense. Alec can protect him if White catches up, and I can keep an eye on you. Come on,” he ordered, running forward to ensure the guards were still out cold.

 

*-*-*

 

“You know, I don’t think our plan would have worked,” Dean muttered, seemingly more lucid, as Alec helped support him through the tunnels, while Max and Sam took the lead.

 

“No?” Alec teased, walking as quickly as possible.

 

“We have no idea how many guards there are, no way of getting away, I mean, what the hell were we thinking?”

 

“ _Oh my god, I don’t want to die_?”

 

“Dude, you sound like a girl,” he pressed, trying to clear the tickling in his throat.

“Good job your brother turned up with Max then, huh.”

Dean nodded.

 

“’s not fair, I’m supposed to be the one who saves _his_ ass,” Dean complained and tried to clear his throat once more, but one cough turned into an entire fit until Alec was forced to stop and let Dean hunch over, the fever taking its toll.

 

Unfortunately the pause was all that was needed.

 

Suddenly Alec’s charge was grabbed from behind, and he cursed himself for letting him fall back when he saw Dean crash into the wall behind them. He turned to see White standing there, breathing heavy and glaring as usual.

 

“Trying to escape?” he sneered, as they stepped around each other in a circle, both waiting for the other to make his first move.

 

“You could say that,” Alec glared, worried at the silence that proved Dean had obviously stopped coughing.

 

“Where is she?” White asked, cutting to the chase, and Alec laughed.

 

“You really think after all of this I’m gonna tell you?”

 

“You wouldn’t want Mr Winchester to suffer any more now would you?” White threatened, but before he could continue, his head snapped to the side, and in surprise he fell to the ground.

 

“Yeah? Well Mr. Winchester’s tired of being your leverage,” Dean hissed, voice cracking in his burning throat, and Alec grinned appreciatively at the sight. There stood Dean, fists in defensive position having just kicked his captor hard in the forehead, the burst of adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

 

White began to get up but Dean was there, ready. He kicked out again, landing a harsh blow to White’s chest before Ames managed to grab Dean’s ankle, pulling the man down. Just as Dean was out for the moment, Alec appeared to pick up the slack; fists flew as he and White went at it, and Dean gathered himself up off of the floor and joined in the fray.

 

Years of training, and now days of anger boiling was coming back to him. He knew the cost of this burst of energy might make it near impossible to walk out of there unaided, but he didn’t care. This man had kept him tied to a chair, had tortured him physically, and attempted to mentally. All because of a case of mistaken identity and a clear sociopath tendency.

 

He could kill him right now, and he wouldn’t have any qualms about it. Not for some time at least.

 

Every now and again a punch would catch him off guard—Alec too—and with the fight dwindling down, it wasn’t safe for either of them. Dean’s hearing was zoning in and out as his strength began to leave him, and he caught sight of his brother rushing in with Max by his side, just as White’s leg swung down, caught him in the knees, and tripped him to the ground.

 

Alec growled, and Max ran forward, helping her friend to beat the crap out of the agent, as long as the agent in question continued to take the offensive.

 

Sam pulled his brother to his feet, but nearly unconscious as he was, Dean couldn’t keep upright, and it was up to the younger Winchester to drag the elder out of their, casting a worried glance behind him as he pulled his brother along.

 

“No, Sam, stop,” he muttered, his breathing ragged, as he tried to turn in Sam’s grasp and get back to White.

 

“Dean they can take care of it, Dean, dammit, stop!” Sam cried as his brother continued to struggle. Sam was terrified he might hurt Dean, but he couldn’t let him go back; it was suicidal.

 

“He has—Sam let me go—I have to get it back.”

 

“Get what back? Dean, Dean!”

 

He broke free suddenly, momentum taking him further as he landed mere feet away from White, currently on the ground.

 

Dean saw a glint of gold from the man’s breast pocket and lunged at him, pinning him best he could as he reached for the necklace. White launched himself at Dean, about to grab his neck when Alec’s foot was on their captor’s neck, and Dean was holding the pendant so tightly that the grooves were leaving impression on the palm of his hand.

 

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam muttered, pulling him away once more as the fray only continued to worsen. “What the hell were you thinking?”

 

But Dean stayed silent in his brother’s arms.

 

Max had already disposed of the two guards that had strayed near by their escape route through the man-hole, and her hearing couldn’t pick up anyone else. Clearly White had been too busy following Alec and Dean to think about meeting them at the destination they were headed for.

 

Reaching the base of the ladder, Sam glanced at his brother.

 

There was no way Sam could safely get the both of them up there, and if he tossed Dean over his shoulder, it ran the risk of him falling, or both of them falling.

 

Sam could brace his own fall, but could Dean?

 

He sighed and jostled his brother in his hold.

 

“Dean? Dean, you have to wake up,” he muttered, still looking around to ensure the coast was clear. Relief washed over him when he saw his brother’s clouded gaze looking back from the ladder in question and Sam’s looming features. Making the connection, Dean started to squirm out of his younger brother’s arms, grabbing hold of the steel rods and pulling himself up best he could.

 

Sam was on hand to push and ready to catch Dean should he fall.

 

The injured man’s hands shook, and his feet fumbled for a hold, but Sam was already climbing up right behind him and urging him forward—only two more steps to go until they’d be above ground. He reached up over his brother and shoved the man-hole cover across, letting Dean climb through and hoist himself up as far as he could.

 

Dean collapsed back on the gravel and paid no heed to the tiny rocks digging into his skin, preferring instead to focus on stopping the big black dots in front of him from spreading across his whole vision.

 

He heard his brother mutter, “Come on Dean,” and felt the hands grab him once more, but instead of helping him stand up, Sam lifted him up, placing him in fireman’s carry, and ran as fast as possible to the hidden Impala.

 

*-*-*

 

“You gonna kill me?” White asked, his hand brushing away the blood from his lips, staring up at the two transgenics, glowering at him.

 

“You deserve that much,” Alec spat, but Max’s hand twitched in his direction. Enough to signal that no, there would be no killing today.

 

“This isn’t mercy, it’s forward-thinking,” she said coldly and walked off. Alec followed solemnly, about to speak when he saw a flurry of movement in the corner of his eye.

 

White was on his feet, rushing forward.

 

But Max had seen it too.

 

At the last minute she struck back, her left knee bent down, as she punched his abdomen, winding him, and forcing him to the floor.

 

“Idiot,” she muttered, ignoring the throb in her knuckles from the hard hit. At the voices of guards in the distance, she and Alec shared a knowing look before the both of them took off out of the sewer and to safety.

 

“This isn’t over!” White wheezed, clutching at his stomach. “You hear me? This isn’t over!”

 

  
**TBC  
**


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

When the Max and Alec finally caught up with the Winchesters, they saw Sam placing his brother in the backseat as carefully as possible and apparently debating with himself whether he should drive or get in the back with him. He turned and half smiled at Alec, who held his palms open, enough of a signal for Sam to toss the keys in his direction and climb into the back seat.

 

Max jumped into the passenger seat and turned around instantly, asking about Dean’s condition.

 

“Has he been out long?” she questioned, remembering her surprise at seeing him fighting earlier.

 

“No,” Sam answered, touching his brother’s forehead. “Shit, he’s burning up,” he muttered, checking his brother’s neck with the back of his hand to find that it too was as hot. “He has a fever?” he questioned Alec as he drove, who nodded grimly.

 

“He wasn’t exactly cared for in there.”

 

“What about you?” Max asked, carefully, turning back in her seat and staring at Alec.

 

“Me?” His eyes flickered to hers for a moment, “You know me, Maxie. I’m always all right.”

 

Max groaned and stared out of the window for the rest of the drive, only turning to look at the back seat and its passengers at the low moans their injured party let out as the car was jostled.

 

*-*-*

 

 

The gravel beneath the tires jumped up beneath the spinning rubber creating dust clouds as they roared down the back roads, hurrying as much as they could in a city on high alert. Alec took as many routes as he could to avoid the check points—and Max had ordered Sam to crouch down and cover his brother with the blanket beneath the seat she had seen before they reached the final barrier between them and Logan’s place.

 

“Jam Pony messengers,” Alec and Max chirped, showcasing their ID’s with wide smiles to distract the officer, succeeding in doing so spectacularly.

 

Once they were close enough, Alec parked the car, ran to the back and carried Dean in the same fashion as he had earlier. Max and Sam followed closely behind as they rushed back up to Logan.

 

“Easy, buddy,” Alec muttered as he rushed through the door of the penthouse, and lowered Dean onto the couch, frowning at the warmth of his twin’s skin despite the obvious shivering as though freezing.

 

“Is he okay?” Logan asked, swallowing the bile in his throat. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, what to steel himself for, but he had hoped the man might have been conscious or at least able to walk in on his own.

 

As Alec backed up, Dean’s head rolled to the side, and Sam sat himself beside him, as though his being there might offer a subconscious comfort. His brother’s eyelashes seemed so dark against such a pale white background, and his pasty skin allowed for his freckles to stand out massively. He looked so much younger, and so ill that Sam felt a lump form in his throat.

 

He could vaguely hear Logan’s insistent voice speaking to someone on the phone and was aware of Alec sorting out the guest bedroom for Dean. Max handed Sam a glass of water in case Dean needed it, and Sam managed to get a few sips down his brother’s throat before he started coughing it back up.

 

*-*-*

 

“This Sam Carr, he can be trusted?” Sam asked, after Logan had explained who he had called—and who was now currently checking Dean for life-threatening injuries—and Sam had finished helping Alec take Dean into the spare room.

 

“I wouldn’t have let him in there if he couldn’t be,” Logan said reassuringly. “He’ll take care of Dean, Sam, but in the mean time, maybe you should—”

 

“If you tell me to rest, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

 

Logan smirked, somewhat surprised at the outburst, but conceded to what Sam wanted.

 

“All right then, coffee?”

*-*-*

 

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Carr asked Logan as soon as he came out of Dean’s room. He had been in there quite some time, and Sam had already gone through two cups of coffee and paced in front of the door long enough to leave impressions on the wooden floor.

 

Logan didn’t answer the doctor. Neither did Max or Alec on either side of him, and this other man, whom Dr. Carr had not met before, had seemed numb since before he had arrived. Understandable though, if he was the patient’s brother.

 

“Bruised ribs, burn marks all over his body. Rope burns on his wrists and ankles, massive contusions on the neck and torso,” Sam Carr began, rattling off the list of injuries, “Logan, there was Sodium Pentathol in his system, where the hell has this kid been?”

 

“Wait, Sodium what?” Max asked, and Dr. Carr sighed before explaining, subtly avoiding Sam’s gaze now that he knew he was the patient’s brother.

 

“It’s a chemical, a barbiturate—”

 

“In English?” Sam asked, breath catching in his throat. Dr. Carr sighed, finally looking up at him.

 

“They decrease higher cortical brain functioning. To lie, you have to use more of your higher brain functions; it’s more complex.”

 

“And that’s what the Sodium Pentathol did?”

 

“Yes, it depressed the central nervous system; it lowers blood pressure and slows the heart rate. Because of the relaxed state the subject is in, produced by the drug, they’re easier to interrogate.”

 

Sam’s forehead creased in his grief. He looked toward the door between he and his brother and turned back to Dr. Carr, fighting to keep a hold of his emotions.

 

“Did he—I mean, how—”

 

“I noticed the symptoms, checked it out. Your brother didn’t know about it; he must have been unconscious when it was administered.”

 

“What are the side effects?” Sam asked, now even more concerned and anger boiling.

 

“Your brother’s lucky, anaesthetics can lead to hypotension and obstructed airways. Granted, because it’s still in his system, there’s still the risk. You’ll have to keep an eye on him, if his breathing’s too shallow, or if his skin shows discolouration.”

 

“I know what to do,” Sam whispered, and Dr. Carr frowned, almost surprised. “He—uh—when we were younger, our dad busted up his ribs pretty badly. Dean made sure I knew what to do as well as he did. In case...” He stopped, and once again found himself staring at the door.

 

“Are there any other side effects we should know about?” Alec asked, breaking his own silence, seeing as Sam wasn’t about to speak up any time soon.

 

“Only the ones he’s exhibiting, headache, nausea, severe drowsiness, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed some kind of delirium, especially thanks to that fever of his. But that should clear away soon.” He tried to smile reassuringly.

 

“What about his other injuries?”

 

“They’ll heal; he’s sleeping now.”

 

“Thank you,” Sam croaked, excusing himself and grabbing his phone tightly in his palm. He had a call to make.

 

“Logan?” Sam Carr called, “Can I have a word with you?” And it was clear he meant privately.

 

“Sure,” Logan smiled, leading his friend to the door. “What is it?”

“He’s dehydrated, malnourished, his skin shows major trauma, the bruising to his torso, I’ve never seen it so bad, and there’s only so much morphine I can give him. What’s going on?”

 

“Sam,” Logan began, addressing his friend by his first name, “I really appreciate everything you—”

 

“That’s not an answer. Look, I trust your judgement Logan, and if he’s a friend of Eyes Only, then he’s a friend of mine, but the kid’s been through hell. Maybe you should involve the authorities? Or at least get him to a hospital?”

 

“Why do you think I called you?” Logan said, smiling. “Look, he can be trusted, but the authorities might not agree, it’s too risky. I know you’re just trying to help.”

 

“Then let me know if you need more supplies, and I’ll see what I can do,” he finished, and left the penthouse.

 

*-*-*

 

“We have to stop him,” Sam said simply, referring to Ames White.

 

“You don’t think we’ve tried?” Max asked, taking the comment offensively.

 

“He’s still around, isn’t he?”

 

“Hey, lay off Sam,” Alec muttered, though his voice lacked any conviction.

 

 “Why can’t you just--” But Sam stopped himself, aware of where he was going.

 

“He isn’t a demon to be stopped,” Max explained. “He’s a man, and you have no idea how hard it is for me to say this but we can’t just kill him, it brings too many problems to the surface.”

 

“Forgetting the fact that we’d have a dead-government-agent to clean up, but it could risk exposure for every transgenic. His team could turn the city into a bloodbath, saying that some poor unsuspecting man of the law had been murdered.”

 

“So me and Dean... we just have to run?”

“Don’t you do that anyway?”

 

“No, we don’t. Things run from us, not the other way around.”

 

“What about the police? Dean’s been accused of murder.”

“And he’s buried in St Louis, as far as they’re concerned. There _are_ no police after us, not knowingly.”

 

“But this demon, he’s after your family.”

 

“He’s running from us, and we know how to protect ourselves against ghosts and demons, they have patterns, but people, the government? What happens when White comes back for revenge? What happens when the next guy looks at Dean and sees a transgenic?”

 

“The same thing that’ll happen if someone from St Louis sees him, Sam. It’s the same problem. Same risk.”

 

“So this is our fault?”

“That isn’t what she means Sam,” Alec said carefully, clearly trying to avoid more of a confrontation after everything they had been through to get Dean back safely.

 

“I’m sorry Sam, but you can’t just expect us to kill him. He’s a problem for us too, but he’s not the only one out there.”

 

“He’s the one who has a grudge against you in particular, against Alec, against Dean—”

 

“No, Sam, okay? I’m sorry, but no,” Max finished, leaving Sam and Alec alone in the living room. “I’ll tell Normal you’re ill or something,” she muttered in her transgenic friend’s direction and let the door slam on her way out.

 

Alec might have growled had Sam not been in front of him. Now he was stuck there, in the awkward position of dealing with his _double_. Max’s words stopped his escape, and he knew she had been well aware of that as she said them. He also knew Normal would never take his absence out on his golden-boy either.

 

“No!” A scream from the other room, and Sam was gone in an instant to get to his brother.

 

*-*-*

 

_Fingers pull and prod, nails dig deep, and there’s a stench on the air. Walls loom high above, gnawing jaws so close. Drool dripping, breath on your skin and your father’s voice in the distance calling out to you, screaming your name._

 

_Before distant wind takes the echo away, and he’s gone. He’s hunting, ordering you to take down names, ordering you to listen, to obey. Do as I say, not as I do, do as I say, do it, do it._

 

_“Dean?”_

_“What are you gonna do, Sam? The gun’s filled with rock-salt, it’s not gonna kill me.”_

 

_The shot rings out, and you’re thrown back, landing on metal, hands at your sides and cuffed before you can move away._

 

_“I’ll get what I want. One way or another.”_

 

_And Sam isn’t the one standing in front of you anymore._

 

_White, with a loaded pistol and his hand raised against—not you—your brother. Gun aimed. Trigger pulled and—_

 

“No!”

 

“Dean?”

 

The voice was loud, and when he turned his head, swimming as it was, he saw the light from outside of the door shining brightly, silhouetting the shaggy-haired figure standing there.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Dean blinked, trying to get rid of the drowsy feeling but failing miserably as he sank back into his pillows. Nodding best he could.

 

*-*-*

 

It was gone midnight, far gone, and dawn, or rather the twilight-like-sky of pre-dawn, was rising across the Seattle skyline. The dilapidated Space Needle just visible in the background, though still nothing more than a silhouette until daybreak.

 

 

 

 

“Thank you,” Sam said earnestly, as Alec joined him in staring out of the window. He scoffed at the words.

 

“I got myself caught, I could have gotten him killed.”

 

“Has Max had a go at you yet?”

“No—”

 

“Then save the explanation for when she does,” Sam said, smiling slightly. “Alec, you helped me find my brother, that’s all I wanted. You kept him alive, and I’m grateful. So, thank you.”

 

“Well when you put it like that,” Alec grinned and Sam rolled his eyes, hoping it wouldn’t be too long until Dean too was back in the same mood Alec was currently exhibiting.

 

*-*-*

 

When dawn finally did break sometime before five, Sam was still awake, watching in fascination of how people went about their daily business as though the world surrounding them wasn’t crumbling into pieces.

 

How they had no idea of what was going on right underneath their nose. And according to Logan, they knew nothing more than what a few untrustworthy tabloids had posted to create fear and paranoia.

 

His reverie was soon broken when once again he heard his brother’s mutterings grow louder and louder. With Alec, Max and Logan currently asleep in the living room, he made the distance to the guest bedroom quickly before any of them would be woken up.

 

“Dean,” he whispered once he was by his brother’s side. “Dean, it’s okay, you’re okay now.”

 

But his brother was thrashing wildly against the covers, teeth bared as though trying to stop from crying out. Sam reached out carefully and touched his brother’s skin, thankful to feel the temperature lower than it had been earlier yesterday. The fever had broken earlier than he had expected, but the nightmare was still keeping a hold of his brother tightly.

 

Just as Sam was leaving the room he heard a small voice mutter something, and he turned around.

 

“What?” he asked his brother, who then repeated himself.

 

“I said thanks.”

“For what?” Sam asked, confused.

 

“Saving my ass,” Dean said, a small smile playing on his lips as he lay back onto the pillows, and Sam hoped his brother could get the sleep he needed now at least.

“No problem, Dean.”

 

*-*-*

 

“Nightmare?” Alec asked when Sam returned a few short moments later, and he nodded sadly. Though only Alec remained awake which was some small miracle he supposed.

 

“He’ll be okay,” he comforted, and Sam nodded.

 

“I know he will.”

 

After all, it would take a lot to stop Dean from getting on with his life. With hunting. And White just wasn’t it.

 

*-*-*

 

“All right, well you seem a lot better,” Dr. Carr noted as he put away his stethoscope and tools back into his medical bag.

 

Six days had passed, and they had been lazed away with Dean being ordered to stay in bed and eat what he could, drink more than he should, and rest, rest, rest.

 

“I feel a lot better,” Dean said simply.

 

“All the same, you should still take it easy,” Dr. Carr explained over the roar of rain outside. “But the burns are healing up nicely, and with the fever gone, your health is showing definite signs of improvement.”

 

Dean smiled.

 

“What about your appetite? Logan said your brother’s been getting you to eat small portions.”

 

“They’ve been getting bigger though.”

 

Dr. Carr nodded, understanding.

 

“Keep your strength up. Drink plenty of fluids, and stay away from tazers.”

 

“Understood.”

 

“Nice seeing you again, Dean,” Dr. Carr smiled as he left the room, meaning it, and as he made to leave the penthouse once he had filled Sam in on the details, Logan stopped him and offered him a lift.

 

“It’s not far—”

 

“It’s raining, come on, I’m going that way anyway.”

 

*-*-*

 

“I’m not an expert, but shouldn’t you be asleep or something? You know, resting?” Alec asked when he entered the guest room to see Dean dressed in the sweats Sam had gotten in from the car, standing by the window.

 

“What’s with his car?” Dean said, ignoring Alec and watching through the window as Logan pulled out of his parking space and drove the good doctor back to the hospital.

 

“Don’t let Logan hear you bitching. He’s actually proud of that thing.”

 

“I can’t even tell what it is,” Dean said, sounding surprised, but Alec understood.

 

“That’s cause it has so many different cars on it. I swear, there are less parts in a junk-yard.”

 

“So he can afford the penthouse but not the Aston Martin.”

 

“I don’t even know how Logan affords the penthouse. Besides, people with those kinds of cars are just over-compensating.”

 

Dean grinned.

 

“But,” Alec continued, “it’s nothing like yours, huh, a true American classic—”

“You drove my car?”

 

“I never said that.”

 

“You didn’t need to. You drove _my_ car?” Dean repeated.

 

“Is there a problem with that?” Alec asked, skirting around the accusation.

“Yeah,” Dean stressed.

“Then no, no I did not.”

 

“Oh please, we suck at lying.”

 

“No we don’t,” Alec said, frowning.

 

“No, you’re right. You suck at lying.”

 

“Oh, _I_ suck? You’re the one who keeps telling everyone you’re fine.”

 

“Interesting shift in conversation.”

 

“Everyone’s worried about you.”

 

“So tell me, if everyone was treating you like glass, would you admit it if you weren’t okay?”

 

“I wasn’t the one tortured.”

 

“No, I was, so I’ll deal with it,” Dean said, his anger growing slightly.

 

“Alone? Oh yeah, that’s a good idea.”

 

“I don’t need your advice.”

 

“Well, you won’t listen to anyone else’s.”

 

“So now because you look like me, you get to tell me what to do? Go to hell.”

 

“Don’t try your diversion tactics on me, I can spot them a mile off, and I bet Sam can too. You can’t handle this on your own, and Sam has a right to know if this happens again.”

 

“Again? So this isn’t it. White’s gonna keep coming after me thinking it’s you?”

 

“Only next time he’ll know.”

 

“Dammit, why can’t you all just pick on someone else?” he asked, though Alec wasn’t sure the question was directed at him. Dean’s neck was craned so that he was staring up at the ceiling, and it seemed as though Dean was asking someone up there.

 

“Who’s picking on you?”

 

“You are! You and your evil twin, and my evil shape shifter twin, god, it’s bad enough I’m dead, but now I’m gonna be hunted?”

 

“It isn’t that bad.”

 

“And why the hell do you look like me anyway? I’ve been here nearly a week, and no one’s had the decency to explain.”

 

“Sam tried.”

 

“No, Sam tried to get me to sleep, again.”

 

“Look, we don’t know. We have different DNA, completely different, I’m not related to you, or Sam, so we can either let this annoy us until we die, or let it go.”

“Let it go? You’re my twin, how am I supposed to let this go.”

 

“Sam said doppelganger,” Alec explained simply.

 

“Doppelganger means the evil twin theory, neither of us is evil, or pure of heart, and meeting your doppelganger brings doom on earth. So far, I’m just getting annoyed.”

 

“What do you want me to say, Dean?”

 

“Forget I mentioned it,” Dean sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed stiffly. Alec followed suit.

 

“So, I told you a fair bit back there in that cell, care to return the favour?”

 

“What do you want to know?”

 

“These nightmares of yours...”

 

And Dean was forced to explain them best he could, well aware that Alec was blackmailing Dean into sharing his problems for once. But somehow it didn’t seem so bad telling _himself_ his own insecurities.

 

*-*-*

 

Sam saw Logan at his desk, sorting through documents and deleting some. Strolling over, he tried to seem as casual as possible, though the questions were burning inside of him.

 

“How do you know my father?” He asked simply, straight to the point, and Logan smiled as though caught in a memory.

 

“Long story, but apparently someone called him complaining about monsters—”

 

“They weren’t?” Sam asked, noticing the tone in which Logan was explaining it all to him.

 

“No, they were transgenics, but I couldn’t let your dad know that.”

 

“You lied to him?” There was amusement in Sam’s accusation.

 

“I withheld the truth to protect others.”

 

“And you kept in touch?”

 

“Less suspicious.” Logan grinned as he turned back to his computer for a moment.

 

“Hey, you mind if I have that picture?” Sam asked, pointing to the computer, referring to the one his father had emailed Logan in the first place.

 

“Sure,” he nodded, smiling and printing it for Sam.

 

“I don’t really have that many,” he explained, though there was no need.

 

“Here,” Logan gestured to the print out in his hand, and Sam thanked him once more before walking back into the living room.

 

“You know, what you did was incredibly stupid,” he overheard Max tell Alec simply, smiling still, as she finished lacing the last loops of her boots, and tucked her jeans over them. “But you did get him back, you should be proud of that much.”

“It’s my fault he was there at all,” Alec said, and Sam felt the need to rush in and knock some sense into him, but he was sure Max would be doing that soon enough.

 

“And that’s exactly the kind of attitude I was trying to avoid. I’m heading over to Joshua’s, wanna tag along?” Max asked, already out of the door, not even waiting to hear Alec’s exclamation of _“Uh, okay,”_ as he followed in pursuit.

 

*-*-*

 

Their goodbyes were half-assed, they needed nothing more. The only reason they had met had been under not-so-pleasant circumstances, and Sam was sure they had no plans of coming back to Seattle any time soon.

 

They did however promise to keep in touch if only to receive warnings about White’s movements and shady plans. Dr. Carr had left antibiotics in Logan’s possession, who then handed them over to Sam with the same instructions as Dr. Carr had given him.

 

“Force them down his throat if you have to. Just make sure he takes them.”

 

Sam smiled at that and said his farewells to Max and Alec with more thanks and a nod of the head. Dean also thanked them, but his words with Alec were quieter, and Sam knew better than to pry, knowing that Dean didn’t take to well to thanking anyone.

 

They left with fake sector passes and ID’s thanks to Logan’s hospitality and tried their best to pick up their journey where it had left off.

 

They were less than ten minutes away from the penthouse when Max and Alec caught up on the back of her motorcycle, telling them to change directions.

 

*-*-*

 

While Dean took up all of Sam’s time reminding his little brother that he was more than okay, to which Sam scoffed and pointed out all of the evidence that disproved this, the younger Winchester had abandoned his phone. Reaching for his phone, atop of the Seattle Space Needle, Sam saw the flashing light of _many_ a missed call, all from various payphones across the country.

 

Being up there was like nothing he had ever done before. He was on top of the Space Needle, not inside staring at the graffiti walls and broken windows, but on _top_ , resting on the _top_ of the _Seattle Space Needle_.

 

Getting up there had been surprisingly easy. He and Dean had gone as far as humanly possible, and Alec and Max had given them the extra boost to the top. He was pretty sure they’d stop them from falling too.

 

They had so far.

 

Dean was resting his head on his bent knees, cradling them as he stared down at the darkening skyline. There wasn’t a sunset, but it was close.

 

When Sam watched him he could see how tired his brother looked, practically falling asleep right there and then. Though, Sam wasn’t one to talk. He’d barely slept himself. He’d been too immersed in making sure Dean was still breathing. His brother had long since gotten the all clear, but that didn’t let Sam forget how worried he had been during the first few days. With the threat of hypoxia looming over them. Of the fever spiking, and Dean’s constant nightmares waking him nearly every hour.

 

He wondered if his father’s cell phone would even still be in service, or if he could even get service so high up, but he dialled it anyway and was pleasantly surprised at the barking booming voice on the other end. Shouting at him.

 

“Sam? What the hell’s going on? Where’s Dean? I’ve been calling for days!”

 

Alec and Max heard the voice clear as day and both shared amused looks from where they sat near Dean. Sam and his brother had barely left when Max had the idea to show the two the best part of the city. And since she was sure they wouldn’t be coming back any time soon, she figured she might as well take them there.

 

It would have been cruel to leave Alec behind.

 

“Sorry, Dad. Got a little caught up,” Sam muttered, shaking Dean’s arm to make sure he was awake, and _not_ staring at the sky.

“Caught up? Damn it, Sam, your brother—”

 

“Is right next to me,” Sam said, cutting his father off and laughing at the deathly silence on the other end. “It’s for you.” He motioned to Dean who was wide eyed and frowning. He handed the cell over to his brother. Dean got up to his feet—causing Max and Alec’s hands to shoot up in case he fell back down again—and he walked to the other side of the circled roof. The howling wind and Max and Alec’s purposely loud talking stopped him from hearing what was said and he glared in their direction.

 

When he finally returned to their little spot on the _Seattle Space Needle’s roof_ —Sam doubted he was ever going to get used to that—nearly an hour later, Dean was smiling more than he had been at all since his rescue, and Sam wished more than anything that he hadn’t decided not to eavesdrop on that phone conversation.

 

“So, where are we headed?” Dean asked, in a tone that begged for Sam to just forget the near-broken man who had been occupying Dean Winchester’s life for the last month or so.

 

“How should I know?” Sam asked.

 

“You know that’s twice I’ve saved your ass now,” Sam observed quietly, and Dean seemed completely unperturbed.

 

“Oh please, Dean and I had a plan, we would have gotten out.” Alec butted in. Sam scoffed, aware of how much Alec’s plan had pretty much sucked.

 

“Sure you would’ve,” Sam replied sarcastically.

 

“Don’t start, Sammy,” Alec warned, eyes trained on the youngest man among them.

 

“It’s _Sam_.” Both Dean and Sam said in unison.

Max and Alec span to face them at the same time, and cried, “Oh for the love of god, give it up already!”

 

  
**-FIN**

 


End file.
